


The Long And Winding Road

by RowanBaines



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Adoption, Angst, Depression, Emotional Instability, M/M, Memory Loss, Orphans, Pon Farr, Spock Prime Big Bang, Telepathy, Violence, cloning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-01-26 16:44:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 50,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1695341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowanBaines/pseuds/RowanBaines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock Prime has resigned himself to spending the rest of his life alone in a universe that is not his own. But when he agrees to help his counterpart after a mission-gone-wrong, he begins to realize that life has more in store for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for the [Spock Prime Big Bang](http://spockprimebbang.livejournal.com/).
> 
> Many thanks to my lovely and patient beta, [Druxy_kexy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/druxy_kexy/), and to [Tribblescausingtribble](http://tribblescausingtribble.tumblr.com/) for giving me help with the Vulcan language! 
> 
> Be warned, there is violence and implied torture in this chapter.

**~ Spock ~**

 

Spock's footsteps echoed loudly through the long tunnel and his breathing was deep and measured as he hurtled toward the illuminated, blood-green door. The laser-cut walls were lined with pipes and cables and the air began to feel more damp and oppressive as the tunnel crept deeper beneath the surface of Cyrillus IV.

 

Six months.

 

Cyrillus IV was close enough to Romulan space to give its inhabitants a strong distrust of other alien species, but it was, incontestably, in Federation space. The _Enterprise_ had been sent to offer them a place in the Federation, and they had been polite but reserved, requesting time to consider their proposed entrance into the fold. Respecting their wishes, the _Enterprise_ had departed.

 

Six months since it happened.

 

The aliens on Cyrillus IV called themselves the Khrelan. Like Vulcans they were touch telepaths, but unlike Vulcans they were aggressive and tactile. The masked and hooded men who had tricked their way aboard the _Enterprise_ using a fake distress call and an apparently failing ship, had not bothered with gloves. The hand on Spock's throat had given them away, though he gave no indication that he knew who they were. The phaser against Spock's side had prevented him from taking action. The last thing he had seen before they knocked him unconscious was Jim's wide blue eyes as he pleaded for Spock's life.

 

Six months, one week, three days, and eleven hours had passed since his bondmate had been taken from him.

 

There had been times when Jim had blocked him, shutting him out. Only the faintest whispers of pain had escaped through his stubbornly maintained shields to reach Spock. It was enough to let Spock know that his bondmate was suffering at the hands of his captors. Whenever Jim's shields came back down the bond trembled with his fear and his poorly suppressed pain, and Spock swore that he would make the Khrelans regret the day they took Jim away from him.

 

In the five years since the destruction of Vulcan, Jim had become his anchor. Without him Spock felt adrift.

 

As Spock neared the door he hoped—such a human emotion—that he had not arrived too late. The feelings coming to him through the bond now indicated that Jim was mentally struggling and confused. Spock needed to believe that no irreparable damage had been done to his bondmate. It was unfortunate that it had taken so long to retrieve him. Though an investigation had gone underway immediately after his abduction, without any tangible evidence that Jim had been taken by the Khrelan there had only been so much Spock could do.

 

The leaders on Cyrillus IV had complained bitterly at the Khrelan being implicated in the abduction of a starship captain but had given every appearance of being cooperative.

 

Spock came to a stop in front of the green door, feeling Jim's nearness, his distress.

 

He was so close.

 

Spock placed the charges on the door, then turned and ran back the way he had come. He didn't go far, and dropped down with his back to the door, covering his ears with his hands. He felt the reverberating boom all around him and his breath caught in his throat.

 

Months had gone by and the investigation had gone nowhere. He had trusted in Starfleet, had believed that they would bring Jim back to him. But in the end it was a Khrelan defector named Japlan Oro who had given him the key to finding his bondmate.

 

Spock had used all of his available leave time to go to Cyrillus IV and that's where Japlan had found him. With the Khrelan informant to back his claim Spock had gained Starfleet's support and more aggressive measures were taken to get Jim back. Spock had been included in the rescue team despite the worry that he might be too emotionally invested. He was cool and reasonable, but adamant about being there when Jim was rescued.

 

Spock approached what remained of the green door and gave it a kick, sending it flying into the small unfurnished room where a yellow light was flashing in warning. Spock had separated himself from the other members of the rescue team so that he could reach Jim more quickly, but the Khrelans knew they were here now and time was running out.

 

After a brief, considering pause, Spock set his phaser to stun and stepped through the smoking doorway. There were two doors, both less secure than the one he had just destroyed, and after a moment of reaching toward Jim through the bond he felt himself being pulled to the right. He did not bother trying the latch, but kicked the door in and stormed the laboratory inside with his phaser ready.

 

The two scientists were unarmed, and he quickly took them down with two clean shots and then whirled and ducked as a blast of light shot by him. The refrigeration unit next to him exploded in a spray of glass as Spock dodged the next shot. Spock rolled to an examination table and fired at the Khrelan soldier's head, feeling a fiery burst of satisfaction when he dropped.

 

Jim was not in this room, but he was near. Spock could feel his fear and his excitement as he became aware of Spock's presence. Going to the only other door in the room, Spock opened it and stepped into another dimly lit tunnel.

 

The lower parts of the underground facility were maze-like and Spock paused every time he reached a side passage, scanning the empty hallways and unmarked doors while reaching out to Jim for guidance. He was being drawn to his bondmate as though pulled along by a chord and his feet carried him on down the tunnel.

 

The tunnel ended ahead but he could see light pouring out of a doorway on the left. He hardly slowed as he ran around the corner and into yet another passageway. This one was bright and the walls were painted white, giving it a stark, clinical feel. Spock picked up his pace as he realized he was getting close.

 

Too many times during the last six months the bond had been eerily silent, as though Jim had fallen into a coma and could not give off even the muted flicker of dreams. Spock shuddered to think of what must have been done to Jim to sink him into such a prolonged state of deep unconsciousness. As a seasoned Starfleet officer he was only too aware of the kind of cruelties inflicted upon those unfortunate enough to be captured by aggressive aliens species.

 

Spock swallowed down the poisonous rage that surged up in him and pushed on, breaking into a dead run.

 

Straight ahead another green door loomed and he was not far from it when it began to open. He raised his weapon hand as he ran, and he fired just before he reached the door, the blast hitting a startled scientist in the chest. Spock didn't stop, leaping over the fallen Khrelan and bursting into the large, round chamber with a low growl rumbling from somewhere deep inside him.

 

Jim was here.

 

He dropped another Khrelan with a shot from his phaser, and felt his rage begin to shake loose as the weapon in his hand was knocked away by a fiery blast. Spock spun and dove behind a large cluster of computer terminals at the center of the room, catching only a glimpse of the soldier who was firing on him. Crouching down and clutching his burned hand, he looked around.

 

Jim was in this room. He saw tables and scientific equipment lining the walls, and opposite the door through which he had entered was an examination table, and on it...

 

Blinded by fury, he ran around the mass of terminals, keeping low. He snatched up a hand scanner that resembled a Starfleet tricorder as he went, the hard casing cracking in his furious grip.

 

"Come out now, or I'll—" the Khrelan said as he circled the terminals.

 

Spock hurled the scanner as the Khrelan came into view, and the force of it hitting the soldier's face caused him to stagger back. A hot blast shot by Spock's thigh, singing his pants, but then he was on the man, eyes blazing with fury. He caught the Khrelan’s arm and whirled him around, twisting the arm behind his back until he heard the pop and tear of muscle and the clatter of a weapon hitting the ground.

 

He spun the man around again, struggling to reign in his fury and failing, and then sent him sprawling to the floor with a crushing blow to the face. Spock closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and then another, building his controls back up and slowing the pounding of his heart. He must be calm when he put his hands on Jim.

 

A whimpering noise drew his attention and he turned around and walked toward the examination table, stopping just before he reached it. He stared down at the Khrelan woman who was huddled between a storage cabinet and a supply crate. The woman was wearing a lab coat and glasses over her beady black eyes, and when she saw Spock's hands clench into fists her whimpering turned into desperate pleading.

 

"He's alive! Please, don't hurt me! Your friend is—"

 

Spock applied a neck pinch with more force than was strictly necessary and didn't spare the Khrelan another glance as he rushed to the medical table where Jim was strapped down.

 

Spock looked down at his bondmate, his heart throbbing painfully in his chest. Jim was ghostly pale, with dark smudges under his eyes and worry lines etched across his skin where there had been none before. He was dressed in simple drawstring pants and a loose shirt with wires running underneath it. Pulling up the shirt, Spock saw that there were electrodes attached to his chest and he carefully peeled them off.

 

Jim's head had been shaved but the hair was growing back in, and it scraped lightly at Spock's fingertips as he pulled off the net of small electrodes sticking to his skull.

 

Jim's eyelids began to flutter open and when Spock could not locate the release mechanism for the straps quickly enough he simply tore them free, the fabric ripping and the metal groaning.

 

"Jim," Spock said, running his hands over Jim's sunken cheeks and trying to project only love and security.

 

Jim finally managed to hold his eyes open, and when they locked onto Spock's he began to struggle up into a sitting position.

 

"Spock! Spock!" he gasped out as he frantically clutched at Spock's chest.

 

Spock pulled him into an embrace, squeezing his eyes shut as he began to shake with relief and joy. It had been far too long since he had held Jim in his arms, and, despite the fragile feel of the malnourished human, he held him tightly, possessively.

 

Something was eating at him, though, and his skin prickled with fear as he realized that although the bond was intact, Jim's thoughts were muted even with skin to skin contact. Jim pulled back enough to kiss Spock, gently on the lips, and then his blue eyes filled with desperation.

 

"Spock, they've done something to my mind. The bond, I can't feel you, I can't—" Jim stuttered out in a rush.

 

"Be calm, ashayam," Spock soothed, stroking the spiky blonde hair.

 

"You have to fix it, please. I can't take this!" Jim was frantic and miserable, his voice pleading. "I'm alone. I'm so alone right now." It was as if he could not quite accept the fact that Spock had finally found him, that he was safe.

 

"You are not alone. I am here." Spock pulled Jim to his chest again, breathing in the familiar scent of his bondmate. "I will fix everything."

 

"Promise me everything will be okay," Jim said after a few long, deep breaths.

 

"I promise."

 

Jim settled against him, thin arms clamped around him with a strength that spoke of panic, and Spock surveyed the room. There were no more Khrelans in the area, but Spock could distantly hear the rest of the rescue team making their way to him through the tunnels. They would not like that Spock had separated from them, going off on his own, but he had needed to be the one who found Jim. He had needed this, these precious moments alone with his bondmate after their forced separation.

 

Inexplicably, Spock found himself shuddering.

 

He should have felt nothing but relief and happiness, but something was not right. In fact, Spock was beginning to sense that something was terribly wrong, and he wrapped Jim more securely in his arms.

 

He turned his head to examine the rest of the room, eyes narrowing. There were numerous pieces of equipment and computers at the head of the examination table, and another table ran parallel to it, its straps open and a tangle of wires and electrodes piled on one end.

 

Had there been someone else here?

 

Spock felt a stab of pain along the bond and instinctively pulled away from the man in his arms. Jim gave him a confused look, trying to pull him close again, but something had caught Spock's attention. He could hear the other members of his party getting closer, but there was something else. Something louder and very close.

 

Banging. Desperate cries.

 

"What is it?" Jim asked, following Spock's gaze to stare at a door on the other side of the examination tables. Jim appeared confused, apprehensive. With a great sense of foreboding, Spock pulled away from him, steeling himself against Jim's look of profound unease.

 

Spock went to the door, Jim at his heels, and turned the handle. It was locked, of course. His need to open the door was consuming and he began to slam himself against it, ignoring the blinking lights of the control pad on the wall and opting for force.

 

"Spock!"

 

Jim was upset, grabbing at his arm, but Spock pulled away and launched himself at the door, ramming it with his shoulder again and again. The door creaked, the hinges screeched, and Spock let out a triumphant huff as the door flew open under his final assault. Spock was breathing heavily, and he felt Jim's hands steady him as he swayed in the doorway. He looked around the small room, his eyes quickly moving over the toilet and low bed and settling on the man huddled in a corner.

 

Spock took a step back, stunned.

 

It was... Jim.

 

This Jim was badly bruised and there were frayed straps dangling from his wrists. The Jim at his back tried to tug him away, crying out in confusion, but Spock did not move. He could feel surprise and something very like horror coming through the touch.

 

The bruised Jim came forward, gaping in disbelief, and then threw himself at Spock. Spock had thought Jim meant to embrace him but instead he pushed Spock out of the way and attacked the other Jim, shoving him back.

 

"Spock, that isn't me," he said, glaring at the other Jim. "He's a clone. He's not real."

 

"He's lying!" the other Jim yelled, real terror in his eyes. "Don't listen to him! Spock, please!"

 

When Jim tried to go to Spock the bruised Jim moved to block him, shaking with anger. Spock caught the the enraged human by the arm and gasped as he realized that the man in his grip was truly his bondmate. The bond flared to life at the touch and Jim's anger vanished as he turned to face Spock. His eyes were wet with tears and a strangled sob broke from his chest as he let himself fall into Spock's arms.

 

Spock felt ill.

 

Over Jim's shoulder he saw the clone—the man he had comforted and promised to fix—watching him with a shattered expression.

 

"No, that's not true. I'm not—" the clone whispered. He shuddered, his eyes glassy. "I'm Jim. Spock, I'm your Jim."

 

The others from the rescue party began to file into the room, including a flustered and furious-looking Doctor McCoy. Spock looked to the doctor, eyes begging for assistance. It took the man a moment to take in the situation, but when he did face fell.

 

"My god. Tell me they didn't..." McCoy trailed off, looking from Spock and Jim to the frightened clone.

 

One of the other men in the group hesitantly stepped forward and said "Commander, the complex is secure."

 

Spock nodded but his gaze never left the clone.

 

The clone turned to McCoy. "Bones! What's happening?"

 

"Jim, I'm gonna need you to try to stay calm," McCoy said, adjusting the settings on his tricorder.

 

Jim stiffened against Spock.

 

Being addressed as ‘Jim’ seemed to soothe the clone, and his voice was not as panicked when he spoke again. "Yes, scan me. Tell Spock that I am who I say I am. He doesn't believe me. You've got to—"

 

"All right, hang on," McCoy grumbled, still taking readings. He looked up suddenly, shaking his head. "Unbelievable."

 

"What is it, Doctor?" Spock asked, dreading what McCoy would say next.

 

"Tell him," the clone demanded.

 

McCoy shook his head, hesitated, and then finally said, "As far as I can tell this man is James T. Kirk. I’ll have to run more tests once we’re back on the ship, but..."

 

"See, Spock." The clone whirled around and took a step closer to Spock, "I'm Jim. I'm your bondmate, not him."

 

Jim started to turn around in Spock's arms, but he held the human still and looked straight into the clone's eyes. There was a pain building in Spock's head, fed by the sharp and bitter stab of guilt, but he must be strong for his Jim.

 

"No," Spock said, ignoring the look of anguish on the clone's face, "I am not bonded to you." He gulped, clutching Jim so hard that he knew he was bruising him, "You are not my Jim."

 

The clone had become more and more agitated with each word Spock uttered and he had a frantic look again by the time Spock fell silent.

 

"I don't understand. This is mistake. No!" the clone cried when McCoy tried to take his arm. "Don't touch me! This is— This is—"

 

"Easy! Jim, take it easy," McCoy said, holding both his hands up, palms out.

 

"No! I can't—" The clone began to shake his head, and his eyes went blank, "This can't be. I can't—"

 

Though it pained Spock to speak, he finally managed to say, "Doctor, take him out of here."

 

McCoy nodded in agreement, but when he tried again to take the clone's arm he yanked away, his blank eyes suddenly lighting up with fire. He started to charge at Spock and Jim but McCoy caught him and held him.

 

"You can't do this to me!" the clone raged. "Spock!"

 

"A little help here!" McCoy yelled over his shoulder.

 

Two men came forward, shuffling nervously, and took the clone by the arms.

 

McCoy stepped back and glared at them. "All right, you heard the commander, let's go."

 

The clone was furious and struggled wildly against the men pulling him away, but he was sickly and weak and could not pull free. That did not stop him from voicing his outrage, though.

 

"My name is James Tiberius Kirk! I'm the captain of the USS _Enterprise_!" the clone yelled as he was dragged toward the exit. "I remember us, Spock! I remember everything!"

 

Spock's heart skipped a beat. As the clone was dragged through the door, McCoy followed with a hand digging into his medkit.

 

Spock whispered "I'm sorry."

 

"Spock, help me! Please!" The clone's voice echoed down the tunnel, and the plea hit Spock like a punch to the gut. Silence fell suddenly and Spock knew McCoy must have given the clone a sedative.

 

When the echoes from the struggle faded and the room had emptied Spock looked at Jim, needing desperately to be reassured.

 

"Jesus..." Jim whispered before meeting Spock's eyes. It seemed he had finally allowed himself to comprehend the true horror of the situation, and his anger toward the imposter had vanished. Spock closed his eyes, ashamed to admit to himself that Jim's presence in his mind did not soothe him.

 

"Spock, what will we do?" Jim asked, his voice small.

 

"I do not know."

 

"You're shaking," Jim said, rubbing Spock's arms. He gave up after a moment and buried his face in Spock's neck. His shoulders began to tremble and Spock realized Jim was silently weeping against him. He held Jim tighter and sent his love into the bond, wanting to comfort Jim even though he felt as if he himself was falling apart.

 

He could not stop thinking of the clone, could not stop seeing the agony flaring in those vivid blue eyes. The clone; James T. Kirk, and yet not James T. Kirk.

 

What place could such a man—a mere copy of James T. Kirk—possibly have in the universe?

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

**~ Spock Prime ~**

 

Spock leaned his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers in front of him. His younger counterpart was staring at him from the computer terminal, his posture tense and his face tired. It seemed that he was in need of some deep meditation, but, given the situation he was currently explaining, Spock could understand why he might be unable to achieve such a state.

 

"A full memory transfer?" Spock could not help but repeat. "Fascinating."

 

He saw something dark flash in his young counterpart's eyes, and he set aside his scientific interest to consider the emotional impact this situation must be having on his counterpart and both James T. Kirks.

 

Yes, he could understand why his younger self appeared so worn.

 

"So, he truly believes that he is James Kirk?" Spock asked, shaking his head faintly in wonder.

 

"He is beginning to accept that he is... a clone, but he insists that he, too, is James Kirk," his counterpart said, sounding almost harassed.

 

"In all fairness, he _is_. He is genetically identical to Jim and he possesses Jim's memories."

 

"No,” the younger Spock disagreed, shaking his head. “He possesses Jim's memories but that does not make him Jim."

 

"So what is it that makes your Jim who he is?" Spock asked, aware that his counterpart was becoming irritable.

 

"I do not wish to engage in a philosophical debate," his counterpart said imperiously. "There are differences between them. The doctor was able to identify a variation in one of the genes known to affect the development of certain psionic abilities in humans."

 

"You believe this was deliberate," Spock said, his curiosity growing as his counterpart nodded an affirmative. "What did the Khrelan hope to accomplish by doing this?"

 

"According to the information we gathered, the mutation in his genetic code would, theoretically, make him more susceptible to methods the Khrelan have developed for mind control. He would be particularly receptive to telepathic suggestion and implanted commands." His counterpart finished by inclining his head in a grave and significant way.

 

Spock felt his eyes widen slightly in surprise, and a moment later disgust began to churn in him. He suppressed the feeling, keeping his focus on the conversation.

 

"They wanted to use the clone as a spy."

 

"We believe so. And the genetic mutation is not the only difference. He is showing signs of accelerated aging. Though the effects are not significant at this time, I estimate that he is aging at approximately 1.79 times the normal rate of a human male."

 

"Interesting," Spock said. This situation, though fascinating from a scientific standpoint, was an ethical disaster. Spock had known from the start of the conversation why his counterpart had contacted him, but his feelings about the matter were strangely ambivalent. He found that he did not wish to face the dilemma until he had his thoughts in order.

 

Spock gave half of his attention to his counterpart while his mind hurried to fully process all of the relevant implications of this situation as they would affect him. His counterpart explained the clone's volatile behavior aboard the _Enterprise_ , behavior no doubt brought about by his unusual and unenviable position as a duplicate. The part of his mind that was disengaged from the conversation was already rearranging his living situation and making a mental list of various health professionals who might be able to assist in the care of the clone.

 

Spock realized his heart rate was elevated and a general sense of unease had descended on him, so he momentarily directed all of his attention to bodily functions and was soon after called back to the present by his counterpart.

 

"He cannot remain aboard the _Enterprise_ ," he was saying.

 

Spock blinked. "Of course. If you will transport him here I will make all of the necessary arrangements."

 

His counterpart visibly relaxed, his appearance becoming even more haggard as his shoulders drooped. Yes, the situation seemed to have taken a toll on the young Vulcan, and most likely Jim had been affected as well. And, despite the philosophical jab he'd taken at his counterpart, he himself was not keen to confront this apparently volatile duplicate of James T. Kirk.

 

He squared his shoulders, however, and said, "When may I expect you?"

 

"Your assistance is appreciated. We are en route to New Vulcan and will arrive in approximately four days and seven hours," his counterpart said.

 

Spock raised an eyebrow at that, but nodded his head. Of course they had known he would not refuse. Of all of the people who might be willing to assist in the care of a replica of James T. Kirk, he supposed he was the most obvious choice. The Kirk of this universe, for all his divergent little idiosyncrasies, was similar in character to his own Jim.

 

Jim...

 

Spock wondered if his counterpart truly understood what he was asking of him. The loss of Spock's own Jim had left left a gaping wound inside his mind. He feared that forcing himself to coexist with a copy of the man he had loved so dearly—and still loved—would cause the ragged edges of that wound to begin fester with grief. He feared this clone would be the light against which his own darkness would bloom anew.

 

Spock met his counterpart’s eyes and decided that, yes, his younger self had begun to comprehend the nature of the burden being placed on Spock's shoulders.The younger Spock allowed his composure to fail, just long enough for his sorrow to soften his eyes.

 

"Thank you," his counterpart said, before cutting the connection.

 

Spock sat for a long time before the blank screen. When the computer terminal chimed to alert him of an incoming message he finally stirred, blinking his eyes and suddenly feeling the weight of all his years pressing down on him. He felt the crackle of his joints as he shifted in his seat and it took him longer than it should have to order his thoughts, check his time-sense, and mentally compile a list of tasks he must accomplish in preparation for the clone's arrival.

 

He had agreed to accept this responsibility and, therefore, it was illogical to waste time or energy doubting his decision. He had much to do.

 

* * *

 

Using the medical records Doctor McCoy sent and the statements given about the fateful Khrelan mission by the doctor, the younger Spock, and Jim, Spock was able to verify the duplicates status as a clone of James T. Kirk and obtained identification papers for him.

 

After a few inquiries placed at the New Vulcan Academy Hospital, Spock found multiple specialists who were more than willing to take the clone on as a patient, their interest just barely concealed beneath their stoic masks.

 

With these things taken care of, Spock spent the last day and a half obtaining any items the clone might need for comfort, and rearranging things in his small abode to accommodate him. He managed to make room for his desk in the living room and so was able to clear enough space in his office for a narrow mattress. The mattress sat atop a raised platform with storage compartments beneath it, and here Spock stored the clothing and other items he had purchased.

 

It had felt strange to buy clothing for another man. At first he had been drawn to certain items that had a particular flair which reminded him of his own Jim, but in the end he had settled on plain, practical clothing cut more in the Vulcan style.

 

This was not _his_ Jim, after all.

 

On the day of the clone's arrival Spock woke early, had a simple breakfast, and spent the next two hours and twenty three minutes in meditation. When he was satisfied that his thoughts were ordered and his emotions an undisturbed, dark pool deep within him he rose and set to work on any tasks that could be completed at home.

 

He made calls and confirmed appointments, and sent and received messages from scientists who were consulting him on certain projects. Though he took a short break to make spiced tea, he did not eat lunch, and by late afternoon he was still busily going over files on his computer when the call came in from the _Enterprise_.

 

He was disturbed to find that he was startled, having so thoroughly succeeded in putting this event out of his mind that he had almost forgotten it entirely.

 

He recovered quickly, taking the call and confirming that he was ready to receive his guest—if the clone could be called that.

 

Spock had survived much adversity in his life, experiencing unimaginable loss and even coming back from the dead. The situation with the clone was somewhat strange, but it was hardly a disastrous situation. Spock was strong. He was not affected. He would handle this with patience and poise.

 

He sat on the low couch in the living room and closed his eyes, letting his mind rest and rechecking his controls. All was in order.

 

Seconds ticked by. Minutes. Spock waited.

 

There was a knock on the front door.

 

Spock opened his eyes, pleased to note that his heart was beating steadily. He went to the door and opened it, and his voice was perfectly calm when he spoke. "Please, come in. I welcome you into my home."

 

His counterpart, dressed neatly in his science blues, surprised him by forgoing any kind of greeting, formal or otherwise, and stepped stiffly into entryway. His shoulders looked painfully stiff and his dark eyes heavy under the weight of his thoughts.

 

Spock turned away from him in time to see McCoy attempting to form his fingers into the proper position for the traditional Vulcan greeting. He failed, flapped his hand impatiently, and said, "Hello," and then, with the faintest grimace, "Spock."

 

Spock’s heart swelled at the sight of him, and he playfully arched an eyebrow. McCoy stepped inside, setting the shoulder bag he was carrying down on the console table by the door. He turned and gestured to the man behind him to follow. "Come on, Jim."

 

Spock felt a sharp twinge in his chest. The man in front of him was Jim. A younger, blue eyed version him, identical to the man Spock had met so unexpectedly on Delta Vega. There was nothing in him that Spock could see to set him apart from the man he had been cloned from.

 

Spock had been told that it was so, but that was not the same as seeing it for himself.

 

The clone, Jim, looked like a man being led to his execution. He stood very straight and though his brow was furrowed and his eyes slightly glassy his jaw was set and his head held high. He was in pain, Spock could see that, but he was as brave and proud as Spock's own Jim had been, and the twinge in Spock's chest turned to a twisting ache at the sight.

 

Spock greeted him with the ta'al, and, with a bitter twist of his lips, Jim repeated the gesture and responded, "Peace and long life."

 

Jim stepped past him into the house. When Spock closed the door and turned to face his guests they were all shifting nervously, his counterpart edging away as Jim watched him with an intense expression.

 

"So, this is it, then. This is my home now," Jim said, looking around. He seemed to be trying to control himself but then his composure slipped. "It's not exactly the _Enterprise_ , but I suppose it'll have to do, right Spock?"

 

Confused, Spock opened his mouth to answer him, but then he realized Jim was talking to his counterpart. The younger Spock had gone very still, his expression now determined and icy.

 

"Jim," McCoy said warningly.

 

Wanting to break the tension, Spock looked from his counterpart to McCoy. "May I offer you refreshments?"

 

"I thank you, but we cannot stay," his counterpart said.

 

"Hang on a minute, now! We just got here and I haven't even said goodbye," McCoy said, glaring at the younger Spock.

 

Spock's counterpart ignored the doctor and turned to Jim. "It may not seem so, but I do wish you well. Goodbye… Jim."

 

He was almost to the door when Jim caught him by the arm, whipping him back around. All the the pride and determination had vanished and Jim's face was suddenly marred by lines of pain, his eyes wide and pleading.

 

"Wait! Spock, not like this. Don't just..." Jim floundered, shaking Spock's arm and trying to pull him closer. Spock resisted, pulling away.

 

"I came with you, as you requested, but I must go now." The younger Spock's voice wavered and his icy mask began to melt, revealing his own anguish. "Forgive me, I can not..."

 

"Just go," McCoy stepped between the two, pushing Spock toward the door. He turned to Jim and said soothingly "Don't draw this out, Jim. Just let him go."

 

"Bones," Jim's voice was an entreaty. As the younger Spock disappeared through the door Jim followed after him. "Wait! Spock!"

 

McCoy yanked him back, though, and turning him around, clapped his hands on either side of Jim's head to get his attention. "Hey! That's enough! Remember what we talked about? Do you remember what I said?"

 

Jim nodded. "Bones..."

 

"You're gonna be alright. I know this isn't easy for you, but you're going to be okay, do you understand me?" McCoy sounded harsh but Spock knew that tone of voice, remembered the affection that had come through the touch of his own McCoy's hand when that same tone had been used with him.

 

Jim nodded again, closing his eyes.

 

McCoy leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Jim's. Spock lowered his eyes, feeling as though he was intruding on this tender moment.

 

"I wont forget about you, and I want you to take care of yourself, you hear?" McCoy said. After a moment he grumbled "I'm gonna miss having you loitering around my sickbay, distracting my nurses. You pain in my ass."

 

Jim laughed at that, the sound a dry hiss, as though his throat was raw. He pulled McCoy's hands from his head and then wrapped his arms around him. McCoy threw himself into the embrace, fiercely clapping Jim on the back. They remained that way for a minute, taking comfort in each other, and then they both stepped back at the same time.

 

"I'm fine. I'm fine," Jim assured him.

 

"Nah, you're not, but you will be. I promise," McCoy said.

 

"Make sure they don't destroy my ship." Jim smirked, his eyes shining.

 

"Somebody's gotta keep them in line," McCoy said in his best long-suffering voice.

 

McCoy moved as though preparing to leave but Jim stopped him. "Bones. Do something for me. Just... take care of him. Of both of them."

 

"I’ll do my best," McCoy said with a sad smile. "I want you to contact me if you need anything. Anything at all."

 

"I will," Jim said. He seemed much calmer now. "Goodbye, Bones."

 

"I'll see you around, kid."

 

McCoy went to the door and then turned to Spock. "I'd like to speak with you outside for a moment."

 

"Of course," Spock said.

 

He followed McCoy out and as soon as the door closed behind him, the doctor turned and gave him a stern look.

 

"Now, you listen to me," he started, stepping closer to Spock. "I don't care what the hell the genetic profile says or what kind of perfectly logical ideas you have about identity, but that man in there is James Tiberius Kirk—"

 

"Doctor."

 

"—and if you’re gonna treat him like some kind of freak and make his life miserable just like everyone else did then, so help me god, I will leave Starfleet and take care of him myself."

 

"Doctor—"

 

"He's going through a hell of an ordeal, and he's going to need a lot of support. _Emotional_ support. So, if you're too damned logical to give it to him, then—"

 

" _Doctor McCoy_."

 

"What?" McCoy snapped.

 

"I agree with you completely."

 

"Okay," McCoy said, managing to look pleased without relinquishing the scowl on his face. "Good."

 

"I will take care of him and I will keep you updated on his condition."

 

"His _condition_." McCoy rolled his eyes, and turned to go. "Goodbye, Spock. Live long and prosper."

 

"Peace and long life," Spock replied.

 

Spock watched him walk away for a few moments and then went back into the house. Jim was standing in the living room, a faraway look in his eyes.

 

"I've been here before, so why does everything seem so new," he mused, running his hand along the arm of the couch. He pointed to the chair Spock often sat in to read. "The last time I was here I sat there, in that chair. I made fun of that painting. Said it looked like something painted by a Klingon on a bender."

 

Spock did not know what to say, so he simply moved closer to Jim, silently offering him support.

 

"God, this is weird. I've never been here before, have I? It's just my brain firing off images from another man's life. It's not real." His voice had a sharp edge to it that concerned Spock. He did not want Jim to become agitated again.

 

"Jim."

 

"I'm not Jim." He spun around and fire flared in his eyes. "I mean, I am, but... don't call me that. That's _his_ name."

 

Spock watched him helplessly.

 

Jim huffed. "Forget it. It doesn't matter. Call me whatever you like."

 

They stood in silence for almost two minutes and then Jim's expression softened. "Thank you, for letting me stay with you."

 

"I am... happy to be of assistance to you, Jim." Spock said, hoping the human would appreciate his choice of words.

 

He did. Jim smiled at him. "Happy, Spock?" Spock made a gesture that might have been a faint shrug and Jim went on, "This _is_ an exciting day."

 

His tone was light and his smile warm despite his furrowed brow. The gentle teasing stirred up an old feeling in Spock that made the corners of his own mouth twitch up.

 

Wanting to distract Jim before he became pensive again, Spock gestured toward the arched doorway of the living room to the room that had recently been his office. "Let me show you your room."

 

"Lead the way," Jim said, as though they were not walking a mere two meters to the next room.

 

Remembering the shoulder bag McCoy had carried in, Spock went down the hallway to the console table and picked it up, noting the lightness of it. He could feel the outline of a PADD, the bulk of a few balled up items of clothing, and little else. These were the clone's only possessions, and Spock suspected that what little he owned in the way of personal items had been given to him by the good doctor.

 

He felt a surge of affection for the doctor, and gratitude that the man at his side, yet another version of the man Spock loved, had not been alone on the _Enterprise_.

 

Clutching the bag under his arm, Spock led Jim back down the hall to the converted room. He set the bag down on the bed and turned to watch Jim appraise the small space. For a moment Jim seemed lost, as though casting about for an elusive memory, but then his gaze grew sharp and he frowned, turning to Spock.

 

"I've taken over your office, haven't I. I'm sorry, I don't want to be a burden," he said.

 

"You are not a burden," Spock said firmly.

 

It was an illogical statement, designed for comfort. In fact, Spock had done much to prepare for Jim's arrival and had even rearranged his schedule so that he would have the next five days free. Jim, having been cloned by such unethical and reckless means, would be in need of frequent medical check-ups, and, if his counterpart was to be believed, Jim was also experiencing a degree of mental instability.

 

It would be illogical to deny that taking responsibility for such a person was an inconvenience, but Spock had spent enough time among humans to learn how to be mindful of their feelings.

 

Jim gave him a small, sad smile, and sat on the bed.

 

"I have purchased clothing and other items for you. If you do not find what you need in the compartments beneath your bed then please let me know," Spock said, standing straight with his hands clasped behind his back.

 

Jim gave him a strange, lingering look. "Thanks."

 

"If you are hungry I will prepare a meal for you," Spock offered.

 

"Nah, don't worry about it. I'm not really hungry," Jim said, shrugging his shoulders a little. He suddenly seemed impossibly young. "Actually, if you don't mind, I think I'll just hang out here for a bit and rest. It’s been a long day.”

 

“Of course. If you need anything, please tell me.”

 

“I will.”

 

Spock paused at the door, torn between the desire to comfort and the need to get away so that he could sort out his thoughts, but then Jim gave him another smile and began to go through his bag. Considering himself dismissed, Spock went out and closed the door behind him, though he left it open just a crack.

 

He went to his chair and eased himself down into it, deciding to catch up on some reading. Before long, however, the tablet in his hand began to droop into his lap as his thoughts drifted to the unfortunate human in the next room. Being in close proximity to Jim Kirk—any version of him—was bound to cause Spock some amount of distraction. Still, it would not do to let his discipline slip too much, so Spock set aside his reading and began the process of preparing himself for meditation.

 

Once he was in a comfortable position he let each pressing thought rise to the surface of his mind before dismissing it. One by one his current concerns and his errant memories slid back into the depths, leaving him feeling pleasantly empty and relaxed.

 

For time unmeasured he allowed himself to float thus, blank and warm.

 

When he finally came back to himself, and time returned, he went into the kitchen and prepared himself dinner, then ate it slowly at the dining table that overlooked his small desert garden. When he was finished and had cleaned up after himself he returned to his reading. He was pleased to find that his attention did not wander this time, even when he noticed light coming from beneath Jim’s door.

 

Jim never came out of the room or made any noise. When Spock decided to retire for the night he cleaned his teeth and changed for bed, but when he came back out to tell Jim goodnight the light was off, so he went to his room.

 

He wondered if perhaps he should have tried to draw Jim out and talk with him, but it was too late now so he would have to wait until morning.

 

Nighttime was always the worst for him, the time when the wound inside him seemed to deepen and grow, fed by the cold and silence of his too-empty bed, but somehow the pain seemed less tonight.

 

His meditation must have been particularly effective.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Spock woke in the night to the sound of a yell and a then a drawn-out moan. It was a pained sound, and Spock found himself throwing on a robe and moving swiftly down the dark hall to Jim’s room before he was fully awake.

 

“Spock!” came an agonized cry.

 

Spock burst into the the room and nearly tripped over the shuddering human huddled on the floor. Alarmed, he dropped to his knees and gathered Jim up so that the human’s trembling back was to his chest. Jim was gasping, and Spock could feel Jim’s heart beating far too quickly beneath his hand.

 

“Jim? What is wrong?” Spock asked, his voice gravelly with sleep and confusion.

 

"I miss him already. I miss him so fucking much." Jim sobbed wretchedly. "I keep reaching for him in my head, but he's not there. There’s no one there!"

 

Something stirred in Spock, and he squeezed his eyes shut as his own pain ripped at him from deep within. He fought against it, pushing it back down, as he turned Jim’s body so that he could look down on his face. It was dark but there was enough light to see the glint of tears on Jim’s cheeks and the eyes consumed by pain.

 

“I can’t do this. I can’t…”

 

"I am sorry," Spock whispered. “I wish you did not suffer so.”

 

Jim was rocking against Spock as though he could not decide whether to pull him closer or push him away. His hands fisting in Spock’s robe, he turned his head and buried his face in Spock’s chest. His hot, panting breaths warmed Spock’s skin through the fabric.

 

"Spock," he pleaded, "help me."

 

Spock cradled him, momentarily paralyzed by the raw grief seeping into him.

 

“Please,” Jim moaned.

 

“Sleep, Jim,” Spock said, lifting a hand to Jim’s face. With Jim’s tears wetting his fingers, Spock gently entered his mind and guided him down into unconsciousness, pushing past wave after wave of misery until the human knew only peace. When the body in his arms went limp he stood, holding Jim in his arms, and then laid him down on the bed.

 

He sat at the foot of the bed for some time, listening to Jim’s even breathing, and then, with a last glance at Jim’s placid features, he went to his own bed.

 

He could not get back to sleep.

 

* 

 

The sky had begun to warm to a deep pink when Spock left his room and quietly went out through the back door. He settled onto the stone bench he used for meditation when the weather was mild and allowed himself to enjoy the feel of the warm breeze against his skin.

 

A strong scent came to him from the flowering desert shrubs that lined the stone path through his garden, sharp and almost medicinal. Around the bench were various stem and leaf succulents, some stout, studded orbs and others reaching up to him with thick, pointed stems.

 

He ran his finger over a waxy leaf and contemplated the spiny fruit nestled within the folds of the plant.

 

Like all of the pants in his garden, it yielded parts that could be put to practical use. Besides the fruit, there were several roots and leaves that were good for soups and stews, and the resin from the bristling shrub could be made into a pleasant incense. It would be illogical to grow plants that were purely decorative, especially when the colony was still new and struggling.

 

The sun was coming up now, and though Spock had not forgotten the emotional ordeal he had gone through that night, he found himself at peace in his garden. He stayed there until the sunlight poured over the hills and set fire to the horizon, and then he rose and hesitantly went back inside his house. Spock had faced many challenges, and he would face this one with the same fortitude he had always shown.

 

He would be better prepared to offer Jim support today.

 

He could hear Jim moving around in his room so he went to the kitchen to prepare their breakfast. He poured out two cups of fruit juice and laid out two thick cloth napkins on which he placed warm pieces of bread. The bread was baked with a dried fruit native to New Vulcan, though the fruit was similar enough to Vulcan _hirat_ to cause Spock a moment of nostalgia.

 

He allowed himself the brief emotional indulgence, and then, mentally preparing himself for whatever mood he might find his new house guest in, he went to Jim's door. He rapped lightly, and a moment later the door swung open, revealing a grinning human.

 

Spock was so surprised by the shift in Jim's mood that he stood speechless until Jim brought him back to attention.

 

"Good morning," Jim said.

 

"Good morning, Jim."

 

Jim stepped back and threw his arms out to draw Spock's attention to his attire. He was wearing a long sleeved gray tunic with dark piping and dark slate gray trousers—one of the outfits Spock had picked out for him.

 

"Thanks for the clothes and the other stuff," he said, almost sheepishly.

 

"You are welcome. It was no trouble."

 

"I don't mind a little color, though," he went on, his smile turning distinctly mischievous. "Or are you trying to turn me into a Vulcan?"

 

"I would never attempt such an fruitless endeavor," Spock said, with an amused quirk of his lips. He was very pleased to see that Jim was in better spirits this morning. "I have prepared a light breakfast for us, if you are hungry."

 

"Yeah, thanks. I could definitely eat," Jim said. He seemed enthusiastic at the prospect of breakfast and Spock wondered if he should have prepared something more substantial. His Jim had always had a hearty appetite. His Jim...

 

Suddenly lost in thought, Spock led Jim to the kitchen, and they sat down together at the small table. They ate in silence. Jim finished his food quickly, but when Spock offered him more he politely declined, sipping from his mug. Shortly after, Jim excused himself, going to the living area to stand in front of the glass door that led to the garden.

 

Spock soon joined him, standing just behind him and to his right. For a moment, Spock's memory betrayed him and the man in front of him was older, and in a brief flash the room around them became the bridge of the _Enterprise_. Spock’s skin grew smooth, his bones no longer ached under the weight of his years, and he felt a deep contentment settle over him. The moment passed quickly, though, and Spock mentally scolded himself for giving in to his memories.

 

Such whimsical thoughts could be dangerous to his emotional state if he let them run rampant.

 

"Would you like to accompany me on a walk?" Spock asked.

 

"I would, thank you."

 

Jim moved so Spock could open the door, and then he followed him out, walking at his side. Their elbows brushed as they walked the narrow path, and Spock stole quick glances at Jim in an attempt to assess his emotional state. He had been cheerful from the moment he greeted Spock that morning, but there was tension in his body and a tightness in his smile that betrayed him.

 

Spock knew it would take time for him to adjust—and feeling as though he had lost his bondmate would no doubt pain him for some time to come—but Spock was eager to do something to ease his sorrow.

 

"Jim, I have made appointments for you to meet with some specialists today, but when that is taken care of perhaps you would like to spend some time exploring New ShiKahr," Spock said, watching for Jim's reaction as he spoke. "You expressed some interest in seeing more of the city the last time you were here."

 

Spock was unsure how Jim would respond to him casually acknowledging the transferred memories, but Jim's attention was focused on one thing.

 

"You're taking me to see doctors?" Jim asked, his voice rising faintly with the last word.

 

"Yes. I would like to ascertain that you are experiencing no ill effects from the procedures you underwent," Spock said carefully.

 

"Ill effects. Right. You mean, like, the rapid aging and my fake memories?" Jim's voice had the bite of acid, and Spock controlled the urge to flinch away from him.

 

"I do have concerns about the rate at which you are aging, yes."

 

"Are you sure you aren't just eager to satisfy your Vulcan curiosity?" Jim asked, staring forward and moving a couple steps ahead of Spock as they left the garden and neared the hills.

 

Spock caught up with him and gently took his arm. "Jim, do you think so little of me?" It was, admittedly, an emotional response, but it had the desired effect.

 

Jim lowered his head and some of his tension drained away. “Sorry.”

 

When Jim finally raised his eyes Spock went on, "It is true that I experienced some curiosity when I first learned of your existence, but that is not my motivation for taking you to see the specialists."

 

Jim looked lost, his implanted memories at war with what he knew to be true. He seemed to gather himself to speak but then his shoulders sagged and he quietly stared out at the desert. They had stopped walking, and stood very near each other, Jim's arms crossed defensively over his chest and Spock's now resting at his sides.

 

"I know that your experiences on the Enterprise were difficult for you—"

 

"You don't know what it was like," Jim interrupted, though there was no longer venom in his voice.

 

"You are correct. I do not," Spock quickly agreed. "But if you wish to share with me I am willing to help you through this in any way I can. I am... invested in your well-being."

 

Jim took a deep breath and then turned to walk up a sandy dune. The hills were low and rolling and Jim stopped at the crest of the dune, staring past the rugged outcrops at the vast expanse of flat land beyond. There were no dwellings past the hills, though Spock had no doubt his people would eventually expand out into the burning desert that was so much like their old home.

 

As Spock stepped up beside Jim his ankle twisted in the shifting sand and Jim caught his arm to steady him. He seemed himself again, smiling softly as he looked Spock over. It was the first time since he arrived that Jim seemed to truly see Spock, the distance between them falling away as he accepted his situation.

 

“It means a lot to me, what you're doing,” Jim said, his lips pulling into a tentative smile. “If I can't be on the Enterprise... well, I'm glad I can be here with you, at least. Thank you.”

 

“You are welcome,” Spock said, feeling his affection for this man spread through him like something liquid and warm.

 

James T. Kirk, and yet not James T. Kirk...

 

* 

 

Spock watched as the nurse took yet another blood sample from Jim. Jim had been unusually quiet and compliant since being led into the hospital. He was currently sitting on an examination table, his legs dangling lazily over the edge.

 

The nurse handed the small tube of blood to the geneticist, Doctor Konak, who had been hovering nearby in quiet conference with Doctor Satel. Doctor Konak excused himself and Doctor Satel turned to Kirk.

 

"If you will come with me, I would like to run some scans," he said, gesturing to the door.

 

Though Doctor Konak was reserved to the point of being taciturn, Doctor Satel had spent time studying and working on Earth and various other planets, and was remarkably expressive for a Vulcan. He watched Jim now with open interest as the human hopped down from the table and gave Spock a tired smile.

 

Jim and Spock followed Doctor Satel out of the examination room, and he led them down one bare white hallway after another until they reached medical imaging department. The doctor did not speak or look up as they walked, perusing Jim's medical files on the PADD in his hand.

 

Spock stayed near while Jim underwent multiple scans, and when they were finally led back to the examination room by a nurse, Spock gently squeezed Jim's shoulder before taking a seat to wait for the doctor. Spock knew how much Jim disliked any kind of medical procedure, and despite Jim's calm acceptance of the situation Spock caught him casting wistful glances at the door more than once.

 

Spock tried to engage him in conversation, but when it seemed that Jim was only capable of responding with grunts, shrugs, and nods of his head, Spock left him to his thoughts and they waited in silence.

 

When Doctor Satel finally came back into the room Jim actually sighed with relief.

 

“The rate of aging appears to be stable but we will continue to monitor you. You are otherwise healthy and require no treatment at this time, though I would advise you to immediately report any unusual symptoms, regardless of their severity.”

 

There was a pause while Doctor Satel tapped on the screen of his PADD, and then he made a small sound under his breath.

 

Jim sniggered and said, "No way. You're not taking any more of my blood today.”

 

Doctor Satel gaped at him in surprise. “Fascinating.”

 

“What do you mean, doctor?” Spock asked, moving closer to the two.

 

The doctor was still staring at Jim, though. “You heard my thoughts,” he said.

 

“What? No. You said...” Jim looked unsure.

 

“I did not speak aloud,” Satel told him.

 

Spock was staring at Jim now, too, his brow furrowed in concern. They knew the Khrelans had altered his genetic code to enhance his psionic abilities, but if he was capable of so easily reading the thoughts of someone standing near him, then his abilities might be stronger than they had anticipated.

 

It would be difficult for a man whose memories indicated to him that he was nearly psi-null to suddenly be bombarded by the thoughts of those around him. If his ability was too strong for him to control it could have a detrimental affect on his psychological state.

 

Doctor Satel had obviously drawn the same conclusion and said, almost gravely, “You will need to learn to control your telepathic ability. I will arrange for a healer to work with you on this.”

 

“Look, I didn't really read your mind, I just, I don't know, I got a feeling that's what you were thinking. It's no big deal. Really,” Jim said nervously. Spock wondered if Jim could sense his worry and drew a veil over his thoughts.

 

“You must learn to shield against the thoughts of those around you, for your own sake, and out of respect for the privacy of others,” Satel insisted, his expression very serious.

 

“Jim, he is correct,” Spock said.

 

“When you say healer, you mean mind healer. Well, my mind isn't broken, so I don't need a healer,” Jim said, crossing his arms over his chest. Seeing Spock purse his lips, he added “You want me to let some stranger go into my head and play around? I'm sorry, but I don't think so.”

 

“A mind healer is the most logical choice to train you, especially given the unnatural manner in which your memories were formed.” Spock, seeing that Jim was becoming agitated, rushed to reassure him. “No one will 'play around' with your mind, though it might be necessary for the healer to be exposed to your thoughts as you learn to shield.”

 

“Look, I know you want to help, but I really don't want to do this right now.”

 

Spock was not sure if he was referring to seeing a healer or to the discussion itself, but either way, he did not want Jim to feel any more trapped and anxious than he already did. “Perhaps we will discuss it later, you and I.”

 

Doctor Satel seemed dissatisfied with this resolution, but Spock attempted to convey with a look that the discussion was at an end, and Satel silently acquiesced. He closed out the files on his padd and turned to Jim.

 

“I would like to see you again in two weeks, and once monthly after that to monitor the progression of aging. I have consulted with Doctor Konak, and he does not believe that gene therapy would be effective in this case, but we will contact you if we find some means of counteracting the accelerated aging.”

 

“Thank you, doctor,” Spock said. “I will schedule the appointment before we leave.”

 

Doctor Satel excused himself and Jim caught the hem of Spock's sleeve and tugged him to the door.

 

“Let's get out of here,” he said.

 

Jim waited while Spock scheduled the next appointment, and then herded him out the door and into the simmering afternoon heat. Once outside his steps slowed and he gazed about in a relaxed state of quiet observation.

 

Spock was troubled by the fact that, unless the doctors could find an effective treatment, Jim's aging would continue at its accelerated pace and his lifespan would be shortened. Though it was illogical of him to think so, it seemed to Spock that the circumstances of the clone's existence were tremendously unfair. It was not a matter of fairness, and things were what they were, but still, Spock wished that there was something he could do to improve Jim's situation.

 

Jim seemed, for the moment, untroubled by his circumstances. He smiled at Spock before turning to gaze up at a building being constructed near the hospital. The building was surrounded by a gridwork of scaffolding, and at its base mingled a group of Vulcans and aliens from various races. It was a heartening sight, and Spock felt a surge of optimism regarding the future of the colony.

 

Looking back at Jim, his thoughts grew serious again, despite Jim's apparent good-humor. Jim would need training to deal with his telepathic abilities, but given his unenthusiastic response to the subject, Spock was unsure of how to broach the topic with him again.

 

Spock understood his reluctance. Jim's memories of engaging in mind melds consisted of the intimate joinings with the younger spock, even if no such joining had ever actually occurred, and where that Spock was concerned Jim was obviously conflicted. Joining minds with another was an experience that could make one feel exposed and Jim was already in a very vulnerable position.

 

He would wait and give Jim more time to adjust to the idea before attempting to persuade him to face the issue.

 

A public transport shuttle whooshed by and drew Spock's attention to their surroundings. The traffic was not heavy, and comprised of mainly public shuttles and a few small, private transports for those fortunate enough to possess them. There were quite a few Vulcans utilizing the dusty sidewalks, moving with swift and measured efficiency beneath the glaring sun.

 

Jim was cheerfully bearing up under the heavy heat, the Vulcan style clothing loose on his frame. Spock decided that he was too thin, and resolved to encourage him to eat more.

 

Spock followed where Jim led him, and soon they were walking along a strip of park lined with short, desert-sturdy trees. There were benches flanked by circular shrubs with airy lavender plumes, and for a moment Spock thought Jim would sit down. He veered away from the benches, though, his almost jerky movements betraying the nervous energy he was trying to contain.

 

Jim looked up at the sky as he walked and Spock knew by his somber expression that he was thinking of the stars he had left behind.

 

It occurred to Spock that this man was very brave.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

When Spock awoke the next morning it was immediately apparent that Jim had been up for some time.

 

The scent of warmed bread and fruit wafted to him through his open door, overlaid by the unmistakable aroma of coffee. It had been some time since Spock had smelled freshly brewed coffee, and he was glad he had thought to procure some in preparation for Jim’s arrival. He knew very well the human’s preference for the beverage.

 

Once Spock had performed his morning ablutions, he dressed and went into the kitchen where he could hear Jim humming to himself.

 

Jim walked out of the small pantry just as Spock entered.

 

Jim smiled at him. “Hey.”

 

“Good morning.”

 

“I made breakfast,” Jim said, picking up two mugs from the counter and carrying them to the table. He set them down and then sat in the chair that had become his by unspoken agreement.

 

“I see that,” Spock said, joining him.

 

Jim had cut pieces of the same bread that Spock had made the morning before, but he had also found and prepared a porridge-like dish, and had cut up a piece of fruit. Spock ate more than he normally did at breakfast, finishing his cereal and taking a few slices of the fruit.

 

Jim had been quiet throughout the meal, but as Spock thoughtfully chewed a bite of fruit, he began to shift restlessly in his chair.

 

“So, what am I going to do?” Jim asked suddenly.

 

“You will need to be more specific before I can advise you.” Spock’s eyebrows raised slightly.

 

“I mean, with the rest of my life. What will I do? Where will I work?” Jim gave him a wry look. “I mean, can I add ‘starship captain’ to my resume, or is that cheating?”

 

“It is not necessary for you to find employment immediately. You have knowledge and skills that make you well suited for a wide variety of careers, and whatever path you choose, I will vouch for you.”

 

Jim slouched over and leaned his elbows on the table. “There are not going to be a lot of exciting jobs on New Vulcan.”

 

“I suppose that would depend on your definition of exciting,” Spock said, though he remembered very clearly the type of excitement that came with working on a starship. It was true, Jim would find no such "excitement" here.

 

“I don’t even have any kind of identification papers,” Jim went on, as though Spock hadn’t said anything. Spock understood his distraction; he was busy planning out the rest of his life.

 

“That reminds me,” Spock said, getting up from the table. He went over to the desk he had moved into the living room and picked up a letter-sized envelope, bringing it back to the table. “I meant to give this to you yesterday when it came, but I admit that I became distracted by your impending appointment at the hospital.”

 

Jim took the offered envelope and gave Spock a questioning look.

 

“These are the hard copies of your identification documents.”

 

“Spock!” Jim said delightedly. “Thanks.”

 

“You are very welcome,” Spock said, inclining his head.

 

Jim opened the envelope and pulled out the documents, glancing over them. “James Tiberius—What?”

 

Spock gave him a perplexed look. “Is that what it says? Someone has made a typographical error. The name should have been ‘Watson.’”

 

Jim scowled at him. “What, as in what the hell.” He pushed the documents across the table at Spock. “Why did you change my last name?”

 

Spock could see the turmoil brewing in the human, and he felt himself grow tense in response. Although he sensed he should reach out and say something comforting the sudden rise of emotion unsettled him and he said, “I thought it might cause confusion for two identical men to possess the same name.”

 

“Well,” Jim huffed, “I guess he had the name first, right?”

 

“I was attempting to be practical. I’m sorry if my actions have caused you distress.” Spock immediately knew that had been the wrong thing to say, but he was out of practice when it came to dealing with humans, and was being thrown off balance by the strength of the emotions being projected at him.

 

“Distress!” Jim laughed bitterly. “Yeah, that’s a word for it.”

 

“Jim, I am sorry—”

 

“Oh, you’re sorry,” Jim snapped. “Everyone’s fucking sorry.”

 

Spock drew back a little as Jim’s anger swelled dangerously, battering his shields. “If I had known you would be so upset over the change I would not have done it. I meant no offense.”

 

“Look, I get it,” Jim said. “I’m not James Tiberius Kirk. I’m just the cheap imitation, James Tiberius Watson.”

 

“You are not—”

 

Jim slammed his fist down on the table and his empty mug bounced with a clatter and tumbled over the edge, shattering on the floor. Spock gaped at him, but Jim’s eyes were clouded by anger and pain, and he did not seem to see Spock.

 

“I’m done,” Jim said, his voice flat. He stood, stepped over the broken pieces and walked out of the kitchen.

 

Spock heard the back door open and then close and hoped Jim would not wander too far in his anger. It was difficult trying to decide what to do, and what not to do, to keep this Jim happy. His own Jim had possessed something of a temper himself, and his decisive nature had made him formidable on the occasions when he had been overcome by an unpleasant mood.

 

Jim’s outburst had disturbed him more than he would have liked to admit, but given Jim’s situation, he decided that the cause was sufficient.

 

Still, to have Jim—any Jim—unhappy with him was unsettling. In response to his unease, his mind began to offer up flashes of memory. In his memories he caught a glimpse of skin crinkling around bright hazel eyes, and felt the palm of a warm hand stroking his cheek.

 

The memory was too real, too consuming, and he pushed it away.

 

Spock sank down to his knees with a sigh and gathered up the broken pieces of the mug. He noticed that his hands were shaking and focused his control on stilling them. He was concerned about Jim, but there was no reason for his hands to shake. In his distraction, a piece of the shattered mug started to slip out of his grip and he reflexively tightened his fingers to keep it from falling. He felt it pierce his skin, a shallow wound that caused a single bead of green blood to form. He smeared it away and then stood, disposing of the ceramic shards and then sweeping up the smaller pieces.

 

He went to the bathroom and ran water over the small cut on his finger, and then applied a liquid wound sealant to protect it. It concerned him that he had done something so clumsy and thoughtless.

 

Spock looked up and caught sight of himself in the oval mirror above the sink. At first he saw himself as he was, all deep lines and sagging skin, but then he began to visualize the lines smoothing out and his eyes growing brighter and younger. He remembered the blue of his uniform, looked down and saw it on himself, and then he felt a hand on his shoulder.

 

His heart nearly stopped.

 

Jim.

 

Not the conflicted Jim now under his care, but his brash, golden Jim. He let himself feel those fingers stroking affectionately down his arm, and then imagined, all too vividly, Jim's breath against him as his bondmate leaned in to lay a soft kiss on the tender skin behind his ear.

 

He surrendered, letting himself fall further into memory, casting logic to the wind.

 

“Spock,” Jim whispered.

 

Spock heard his own gravelly voice say, “Yes, Captain,” even though he knew he was alone.

 

He did not want to open his eyes. He did not want to wake from this dream that had somehow found him into the waking world.

 

He felt Jim pressed up against his back, the heat seeping into him and giving him life. He wanted to turn around and look into those golden eyes, to see the love and the acceptance he knew he would find.

 

Only, he wouldn't. It was not real. Spock turned, opening his eyes.

 

He was alone.

 

He tried to control, tried to pull himself together, but the floodgates of his grief had been opened, and he stumbled into the hallway, bracing himself against the wall. It had been many years since he had allowed himself to confront this pain and he was not surprised that time had not diminished it at all.

 

Spock was aware when Jim returned to the house but he could not bring himself to lift his head. Having this young version of Jim with him had made him long for his own Jim, but he should not have allowed himself to indulge in self-destructive daydreams. His Jim was gone and it would do Spock no good to reopen old wounds. His Jim would not have wanted him to suffer so.

 

“Spock?” Jim called out softly, somewhere near him.

 

Spock's controls were in tatters, his pain flowing freely through him. When he looked up to see Jim's hand reaching for him he tried to move away. Jim's unshielded mind must not be exposed to such agony. In his haste to get away, however, he lost his balance and began to topple over, and Jim caught his arm to steady him.

 

For a moment Spock could feel his own pain being drawn out of him and then Jim threw himself back with an agonized scream. Jim collided with the wall, and then choked and retched before sliding to the floor, unconscious.

 

Seeing Jim so still and pale, Spock came back to himself in an instant. Worried for his young friend, he gathered his strength and then pushed down the pain of his loss until it disappeared into the depths of his mind. He hurriedly strengthened his shields and went to Jim, gathering him up in his arms. He carried the unconscious human into his own room, since it was closer and his door was open, and he laid him down on the bed.

 

Spock stroked Jim's forehead with his fingertips, relieved to feel through gentle brushing of minds that Jim did not seem to have suffered any damage. When Spock pulled his hand away Jim's brow creased and he made a small sound, his mouth moving as though he was trying to speak.

 

“Jim?” Filling with concern, Spock touched Jim's shoulder.

 

Jim's eyes flew open and he sat up, sucking in a deep breath of air. He looked at Spock, his face stricken. “Spock!” he gasped. “I didn't know!”

 

“Are you hurt?” Spock asked, returning his hand to Jim's shoulder. “How do you feel?”

 

Jim stared through Spock as he gathered himself to speak, and Spock waited patiently, trying to project his desire to comfort into the human. Finally Jim's eyes focused, though the pain in them was troubling.

 

“I thought it hurt, losing my Spock and the _Enterprise_ —and it did, it hurt so much—but...” Jim's voice was trembling and his eyes were glassy. “Shit, Spock, I didn't know! I didn't know it felt like that.”

 

“To lose a bondmate is to have a vital part of yourself ripped away. There are no words that can adequately describe the pain of it,” Spock said quietly.

 

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,” Jim whispered, and the tears spilled over, streaking down his cheeks.

 

For a moment Spock was mystified by the sight. Here he sat, mourning the the loss of his Jim, and right in front of him sat another version of that man, weeping for Spock, for his pain. Spock reached out to him and, seeing the motion, Jim threw himself into Spock's arms. Spock could feel Jim's guilt radiating off of him, and with great effort, he pushed aside his own disquiet to focus on the man in his arms.

 

“Jim, I know you are hesitant to see a healer, but perhaps I could assist you,” Spock said. It occurred to him that making this request while Jim was still overcome by guilt was shamelessly opportunistic, but Jim's health was at stake and he could not bring himself to regret the maneuver.

 

Jim had been nuzzling into his shoulder but he froze at Spock's words, and then chuckled.

 

Spock was relieved.

 

After a few moments Jim said, “Okay.” The word was muffled by Spock's robes, but he turned his face away from Spock's shoulder to add “You're right, I need to do this.”

 

* 

 

Jim sat facing Spock on the rug in front of the back door, the sunlight streaming through the glass setting him aglow. Spock had been explaining to him the basics of the training he would need undergo in order to control his telepathy, and Jim had been nodding along, giving Spock his full attention. Spock tried not to be unsettled by the familiar intensity of that gaze, and when he stopped talking he was almost relieved when Jim’s eyes dropped to stare at his hands clasped in his lap. Spock nearly smiled when Jim heaved a quiet sigh.

 

“All right. So, basically you’re going to attack my mind, and I’m going to have to fight you off,” Jim said.

 

“It will be nothing so violent as that. I will have you pick a specific memory and try to block me from accessing it, but I will not attempt to see anything you do not wish me to see. Once you learn how to block your own thoughts from being read, by means of shielding, it will be easier for you to block the thoughts of others so that you do not accidentally eavesdrop,” Spock explained.

 

“Sounds reasonable.” Jim sat up straighter, as though trying to seem confident, but Spock could feel the apprehension Jim was unwittingly projecting.

 

“We may begin whenever you are ready.”

 

Spock waited while Jim settled, making himself more comfortable. He could not deny to himself that he was eager to enter this Jim’s mind, curious about what he would discover there. What differences would he find between this Jim’s mind and the other’s? When he had melded with the Jim of this universe he had not peered very deeply into his thoughts but he had received enough of an impression to understand the basic similarities and differences between his mind and Spock’s own Jim.

 

The man sitting in front of him was experiencing a terrible crises of identity, and yet Spock could see his bravery and his strength of will in the firm set of his shoulders and the hardness in his eyes. He felt afraid, lost, but he was far from defeated.

 

Jim looked at Spock and gave him a small nod. “I’m ready.”

 

“Very well. Try to relax.”

 

Spock let his fingers hover over Jim’s meld points, preparing himself for whatever he might encounter. His fingertips pressed against hot skin and the vision of Jim’s determined face blurred as his mind slid into Jim’s.

 

Spock struggled to hide his surprise and his sadness, pushing those feelings back toward himself and away from Jim’s questioning mind. Still, Jim must have sensed some of it because Spock felt him grow unsure and retreat.

 

Spock should have been better prepared, but he suspected that no amount of preparation could have prevented him from responding to some degree to what he found in the clone’s mind. There were memories, of course, an orderly collection of them stretching out in the seemingly unending domain of Jim’s mind, but something fundamental was missing.

 

Whenever he had joined with his Jim’s mind, and even when he had briefly melded with the Jim in this universe, he had encountered a glowing inner fire that had touched and warmed his soul. This fire was the spirit, the very essence of the man that was James Kirk, and that fire was conspicuously absent in this Jim’s mind. Where there should have been roaring flames and golden light there was only a faint glow, feebly flickering in the dark.

 

It was deeply unsettling and Spock did not wish to think about the implications. He thought back on the philosophical debate his counterpart had refused to engage in. His counterpart had insisted that the clone was not James Kirk, and now Spock was inclined to agree.

 

What is it that makes your Jim who he is, Spock had asked. _What, indeed..._

 

Spock was startled from his ruminations when Jim’s mind suddenly separated from his, and in a confused swirling of thought Spock found himself being violently thrust back into his own head.

 

Spock blinked his eyes and when his vision become clear he saw that Jim was staring at him with a devastated expression.

 

“Jim,” Spock said, reaching a hand toward him. Jim cringed, scooting away from him.

 

“Don’t. Don’t touch me. Not right now,” he said, breathing heavily. “Just give me a minute.”

 

Feeling abashed, Spock nodded his head and waited for Jim to catch his breath. Spock felt foolish. Here he was, trying to teach Jim how to shield his thoughts, and he had been unable to shield his own thoughts from the perceptive human.

 

“Well, at least now I know what you really think of me,” Jim said. There was no accusation in his voice, only bleak resignation.

 

“It is not that simple.”

 

“I know. I know it’s not,” Jim murmured. “Kaiidth.”

 

Unsure of how to respond, Spock asked, “Would you like to try again?”

 

To his surprise, Jim nodded his head. “Yes. Let’s just get this over with.”

 

Jim moved closer and heaved a sigh before closing his eyes, and after thirty five seconds of silence he said, “Do it.”

 

Spock waited an additional forty seven seconds as he made certain that his own thoughts were in order, and then he put his fingers in position and slid easily into Jim’s mind. Once again, he was disturbed by Jim’s dim lifeforce, but he very carefully concealed his reaction and urged Jim to pick one of his own memories to shield.

 

He felt Jim’s understanding, and soon after he became aware of a moving image wavering around him.

 

_You must shield. Visualize a barrier between my mind and the memory_ , Spock instructed.

 

Jim seemed unable to form a voice in the meld, but he knew Jim understood him because the images that had been forming around him grew fainter, and then vanished behind a dark veil. Pleased, Spock decided to test him further and let his mind brush against the veil, the touch becoming more and more insistent when he felt Jim’s mind push back against him.

 

Jim was doing very well when something caught Spock’s attention, like a movement seen in one’s peripheral vision. Jim was becoming distracted by the sudden rise of another memory, a recollection more forceful than the one he was currently trying to shield. Spock did not actively seek out this errant vision but when Jim became fully aware of the intrusion his concentration shattered and Spock found himself plunged into a vivid memory.

 

*

 

_Jim snuck out of sickbay, where Bones had been keeping an eye on him. He knew the man meant well, but he couldn’t bear to be cooped up any longer and he needed to see Spock._

_For the hundredth time he reached for the bond, hoping it would tell him where Spock was, but there was nothing there. He slipped into an empty briefing room and used the computer terminal to locate Spock._

_He was in their quarters._

_Heart pounding, he made his way to the cabin, ignoring the occasional startled look from his crewmates. When he reached the door he took a few steadying breaths, and then keyed it open and strolled inside._

_Spock was sitting on his meditation mat, his eyes closed and his face relaxed, completely unaware that Jim was so near him. Jim didn’t want to think about the fact that his bondmate couldn’t even feel his presence. He kneeled in front of Spock and reached out to stroke his shoulder._

_“Spock?”_

 

_Spock’s eyelids fluttered open, and Jim felt himself falling into the inky depths of those eyes. Spock started to smile, that faint twitching of his lips. But then confusion flashed across his features, followed by something darker that Jim could not identify._

_In the next instant Spock leapt to his feet and backed away, leaving Jim hurt and bewildered._

_“Please leave my quarters immediately,” Spock said, his voice inflectionless._

_“They’re my quarters, too, you know,” Jim said before he could stop himself._

_“I do not wish wish to have this discussion again. Please leave.”_

_“I’m your bondmate!”_

_“You are not—”_

 

_“I am!” Jim snapped. He took a deep breath and moved closer, ignoring the way Spock tensed. “Spock, I remember the day way bonded, the ceremony on New Vulcan, the way my heart pounded when I realized that you were mine forever. You touched the inside of my wrist when you thought no one was looking and you promised me that we’d never be parted.”_

_“Please, stop this.”_

_Jim took another step closer, and with a_ bump _Spock backed himself against the wall. Jim was desperate, though, and went on despite the Vulcan’s now panicked look. “I remember the first time I kissed you. We were pinned down by enemy fire, with the whole power plant about to blow, and I was sure we were going to die. I kissed you, and you told me that you wouldn’t let us die, and you didn’t. I wanted to tear you a new one for rushing out into the open like that, but you did it. You saved us.”_

_“I beg you… please go,” Spock whispered, as Jim pressed himself close._

_“No. I will never willingly leave you, Spock. I know you don’t have a bond with me, but I am your bondmate, just as much as he is. I love you as much as he does and I can’t just give you up without a fight.” Jim leaned into him, bringing his arms around Spock’s waist. “Spock, help me.”_

_Jim needed Spock so much that it was a sharp, relentless pain in the middle of him, and finally having Spock in his arms after what he’d gone through was unbearably good. He trembled and pressed his face into Spock’s shoulder, inhaling the clean scent of him, and then lifted his head to press his lips against Spock’s. Spock did not kiss him back, but he did not move away either._

_When Jim pulled back the misery in Spock’s eyes left him feeling gutted. He knew that he was the cause of it, that he was putting Spock through something terrible, but for the moment he could not bring himself to let go of the man he knew he was about to lose forever. He was so overcome by the thought of this impending loss that he did not notice the sound of the door opening or the quick footsteps approaching._

_Spock’s eyes widened and a moment later Jim felt himself being yanked away and thrown back. His mind had been so close to Spock’s, reaching through the touch and through the space between them, and the shock of being wrenched away from it so violently left Jim helpless. He hit the floor hard, crying out at the sudden physical and mental pain that went through him._

_“Jim!” Spock said._

_Jim looked at Spock but he was looking at the other Jim, the "real" one. The other Jim glared at him and then turned to Spock._

_“I got here as quickly as I could. Are you okay?” he asked. He was slightly breathless, as though he had been running._

_Spock nodded and for a moment Jim was confused. Then full understanding of the situation hit him, and his stomach roiled with nausea. The other Jim had been running. Spock must have called out to him through the bond, and the captain, feeling his bondmate’s distress, had come running to save him. To save him from Jim, the clone._

_Jim, the intruder. Jim, the fake._

_Jim climbed shakily to his feet and stared in horror at Spock, who was now being embraced by his worried bondmate. Spock still wore that same pained expression, and he seemed unable to lift his head to meet Jim’s gaze._

_“I am sorry,” Spock said, and then again, more urgently, “I am sorry.”_

_“Shhhhhh, it’s alright,” the other Jim soothed. Then he turned to Jim, eyes hard. “You. Get out.”_

_“I just want to see him.”_

_“No. You have no right—”_

 

_“Yes, I do. I love him too, you know.”_

_“Bullshit. You can see how hard this is on him, but you forced yourself on him anyway.” He stepped away from Spock, keeping himself between his bondmate and Jim. “Do you really just not give a damn at all? You think you’re the only one having a hard time right now?”_

_“No. Of course not,” Jim said defensively._

_“Then leave, right now, like Spock asked you to do before I got here.”_

_Jim didn’t think that the man he had been cloned from could really understand Jim's plight. He was not about to lose everything that mattered to him. Although he had expressed some regret over the situation when Jim was brought aboard, he obviously felt threatened by Jim’s presence and had taken every opportunity to impress upon him that he was the original._

_Spock, on the other hand, seemed simultaneously drawn to and repelled by Jim. When Spock had rescued him from the Khrelans he had promised to fix everything, and, even though Jim’s rational brain understood it was not possible for Spock to keep that promise, the emotional part of him could think only of claiming his bondmate._

_Spock was being eaten up by guilt and confusion—Jim had felt it when they touched and could still feel it hitting him in muted waves—and Jim’s very presence caused him pain. It was a pain he tried very hard to conceal, but it was there, fed by Jim’s selfish need._

 

_The other Jim was right. He had to leave. He wouldn’t fight it anymore. He would go to New Vulcan like they wanted and live his life as someone else._

_He met the other Jim’s eyes. “All right. I’ll be in sickbay.” The other Jim’s expression softened slightly, but he remained standing between him and Spock, and Jim knew he would not allow him to speak further with his bondmate._

_“I’ll let you know when we reach New Vulcan,” the other Jim said, not unkindly, but with a finality that made Jim’s heart seize painfully._

_Jim turned and left, every step increasing the weight on his chest. By the time he got to sickbay he felt as though he couldn’t stand upright for a moment longer, and he curled up on a biobed, dead to everything around him._

_It was really true, it seemed. He was not Jim._

 

*

 

Spock was still suffering from the remembered pain of the scene when Jim’s other memories began to drift into his awareness. He had just decided to end the meld, so that Jim’s privacy would not be further violated, when Jim’s shields slammed into place. In Jim’s mind it manifested as a wall, tall and unbreakable. Spock tested its strength, mentally nudging, then pushing, then banging against it, but the mental construct held.

 

Spock was just thinking that his Jim had been a fast learner as well when he found himself, for the second time, ejected from the meld by Jim.

 

He was impressed, though not surprised. When faced with the unexpected, Jim had always been quick to adapt and utilize advantages. Though telepathy was new to him he had rapidly grasped the nature of his ability and the limitations.

 

Spock could not imagine how the Khrelan had hoped to control him. They obviously had a very poor understanding of human nature.

 

“So, how did I do?” Jim asked, looking as though he knew very well how he had done.

 

“You have made a remarkable amount of progress in a very short period of time,” Spock said. Jim smiled, looking pleased but deeply tired. “There are still things I must teach you, but I think you have accomplished enough for today.”

 

“We don’t have to stop. I can keep going,” Jim said. He sat up a little straighter and made what Spock thought was a heroic effort to appear willing and able.

 

“You may be capable of continuing but not all of us are so young and energetic,” Spock said, making a show of climbing carefully to his feet.

 

If Jim saw through the ruse he gave no sign of it.

 

“I will be in my room, meditating, if you need me.” Spock knew that Jim would not disturb him except in the event of a serious emergency, but he still felt the need to assure Jim that he was always available to him.

 

“Okay,” Jim said, blinking tiredly. Just as Spock started to turn away Jim spoke again. “Hey, I’d like to make us dinner tonight. There’s a Vulcan recipe I’ve been meaning to try out.”

 

Jim’s mouth snapped shut and Spock knew that he had just realized he was referring to one of the other Jim’s memories, and the recipe was something that the other Jim had meant to cook for his bondmate. For a moment Jim looked as though he might be ill, but then he recovered, with the same grim acceptance he had shown after Spock had first seen his inner landscape. Spock felt a strange mixture of pride and sorrow in response. Jim's resilience and determination was admirable.

 

“I look forward to it,” Spock said. “I have faith in your ability to accomplish whatever you set out to do.”

 

Spock’s tone was playful, and Jim’s lips twitched in a reluctant smile. “Faith, huh?”

 

“Indeed. The result of my extensive exposure to humans, no doubt,” Spock said as he backed toward the hallway, “and one human in particular.”

 

As he turned and went through the doorway he heard Jim chuckle, and his heart ached for the young human.

 

Spock made himself comfortable on the mat beneath his window and worked to still his thoughts. The memory of Jim’s barren mind was slow to dissipate, but Spock faced it, accepted it, and banished it as he slipped deeper into meditation.

 

The lack of soulful fire was an unfortunate truth of Jim’s existence, but Spock must not let it color his perception of the man.

 

He would admit to himself, though, in some deep part of himself, that he wished Jim was more.


	5. Chapter 5

After their melding session Jim seemed calmer, and Spock wondered how much he had been inadvertently picking up on the emotions of those around him. Spock should have taken more care to shield his own thoughts as soon as Jim arrived, but years of living alone had made him lax in that regard.

 

Though Jim sometimes became sullen and withdrawn, over the next few days he did not have any more outbursts and they quickly settled into a routine.

 

Whenever Jim rose first in the morning, or if he woke before Spock finished his morning meditation, he prepared breakfast and insisted on cleaning up afterward. Spock did not protest, because he knew Jim wanted to feel useful. In fact, Spock delegated a fair share of the household tasks to him, and he did appreciate the help.

 

Spock’s leave ended and he went back to his duties at the New Vulcan Science Academy. The Vulcan elders, who were aware of Spock’s identity, had been eager to make use of his extensive knowledge, even though Spock had informed them there were many things he would not be able to reveal. Still, Spock was proficient in many fields, and it gave him pleasure to share his wisdom, so he did so whenever possible.

 

A week passed, and then another, and Jim’s follow up appointment with the doctor revealed no changes in his condition. He went quietly and did not complain, and as before, he was very eager to leave the sterile hospital environment once the doctor was finished with him.

 

Though he never said so out loud, Jim was growing restless. It was not unusual for Spock to return home to find that Jim had rearranged the furniture or reorganized the pantry. When Spock suggested he spend more time outside, Jim took to tending the garden with enthusiasm. Soon he was researching desert plants and requesting supplies to aid him in his new hobby.

 

“Spock, on your way home can you pick up some fertilizer? Some of those succulents aren’t native to this planet and they could suffer from a mineral deficiency,” Jim said when Spock found him in the garden one afternoon.

 

“Jim, the plants appear to be healthy,” Spock observed.   

 

“Well, sure they are, now.” Jim seemed to only just keep himself from rolling his eyes. “But it’s best to be prepared for every eventuality. No plants are dying on my watch.”

 

“Of course, Jim. If you make a list of the things you will need I will pick them up for you.”

 

The garden did not require much care, but Spock recognized Jim’s need to keep busy and had decided he would do his best to provide him with distractions.

 

When Jim was satisfied with the state of the garden he turned his attention on the house again. Spock had finally found it necessary to insist that Jim refrain from moving the furniture because, although Jim was very creative in his daily rearrangements, Spock decided that he was most comfortable returning home to a familiar furniture configuration.

 

“Jim, the current arrangement of the furniture is perfectly adequate. Please do not make any more adjustments,” Spock said when he came home to find that his reading chair had been moved into the corner where the desk had been the previous day.

 

“You know, I’m not really sure this is the most efficient use of this space. If I moved the desk back to this corner…” Jim was framing the space with his hands when Spock stepped into his view.

 

“That will not be necessary.”

 

“Fine.” Jim didn’t pout, but his lips pursed a little as he contemplated the room. “You know, the bookshelves in your room—”

 

“Jim.”

 

“Okay. Sorry,” Jim said, sitting down heavily on the couch. “I’m just trying to help.”

 

“I appreciate your intent,” Spock said, his mood growing a little lighter at the sight of the crooked smile Jim gave him. “Perhaps you would like to assist me with dinner?”

 

Jim immediately hopped up and rubbed his hands together. “Yeah. Okay. I changed things around in the pantry so that it’s organized first by food group and then by the product name, since you didn’t like the system of organizing things by nutritional content—and it took me a while to devise a nutritional hierarchy that suited us both—so I hope this works for you.”

 

Spock listened with a raised eyebrow as he followed Jim into the kitchen. He resolved to find more ways to keep Jim busy.  

 

Three days later Spock was in his office going through his messages when it occurred to him that giving Jim a task that could be completed on the computer might engage his interest and would have the added benefit of keeping him from making any further household alterations.

 

When Spock returned home for the day he had Jim join him at his computer. He told Jim the passwords that would give him administrative privileges and allow him to access Spock’s personal accounts. Much of Spock’s correspondence included requests for appointments, with some academic inquiries and the occasional invitation to some function or another.

 

Messages marked ‘urgent’ went into the ‘urgent’ folder and were attended to as quickly as possible by Spock, but there was no reason Jim could not sort through the rest of them and even schedule his appointments, once he had access to Spock’s calendar. Spock set up templates for Jim to use for various types of messages and Jim enthusiastically assured Spock that he would not be ‘let down.’

 

Jim had been attending to Spock’s correspondence for four days when Spock was reminded that such a keen mind must be challenged and kept thoroughly busy.

 

When Spock walked through the front door the first thing he noticed was the blaring of music. He deposited his bag in his room and went to the living room, his curiosity building. The music was playing over the computer’s speakers—a sonata for the Vulcan lyre that his mother had been fond of—and  when he walked through the doorway he was alarmed to see Jim teetering atop a chair as he replaced the clear panel on the light fixture in the middle of the ceiling.

 

Not wanting to startle Jim and possibly cause him to fall, Spock stood silently, waiting for him to finish. When Jim was done he jumped down, landing lightly on his feet, and then turned around to face Spock.

 

“Hey! You’re home,” he said with a bright smile.

 

“I am.” Spock couldn’t keep the humor out of his voice.

 

“Good!” Jim went over to the wall and flipped the light switch, and the light turned on. He bounced excitedly on his heels a few times and then strode over to stand next to Spock, practically buzzing with energy. “I’ve got something to show you.”

 

“Jim, have you consumed coffee today?” Spock asked.

 

“I thought I’d—What? No. I mean, yes.” Jim looked flustered for a moment. “Why do you ask?”

 

“No reason.”

 

“Oh. Well, check this out.” His excitement returned and he gestured to the room around him. “I’m used to being on the _Enterprise_ , and having more control over my environment, but most private dwellings on New Vulcan are set up with only manual environmental controls. You guys don’t have much in the way of modern conveniences, do you?”

 

“It has not been a priority, no,” Spock admitted, beginning to feel apprehensive.

 

“Most of your appliances can be remotely activated—in this case, by the computer—I just needed to program them for it, and set the computer up to accept voice commands.”

 

Spock felt a brief moment of apprehension, but he tamped the feeling down before responding. “Indeed?”

 

“Yeah, watch.” Jim stared toward the computer and said “Computer, lights, fifty percent.”

 

The light dimmed and Jim smiled at Spock. Spock was about to compliment Jim when the light in the kitchen suddenly turned on. A few moments later and light came flooding down the hallway from the open bathroom.

 

“Jim?”

 

“Oops. Must be a glitch.” Jim shrugged. “Computer, lights off.”

 

The lights all switched off, one after the other, but then the holoscreen on the main wall switched on, loudly blaring an Andorian opera. This was followed by the purr of the air-cooling unit. As Spock covered his ears to protect against the sudden cacophony, he began to smell the unmistakable aroma of coffee brewing and knew the brewing unit had switched itself on.

 

“Jim, how many appliances did you program?” Spock called out over the noise.

 

“Ah...” Jim looked nervous. “All of them?”

 

“Jim.”

 

Jim went to the holoscreen and attempted to turn it off, yelling across the room, “I’m going to expand the computer’s capabilities to cover all of the rooms once I have some extra credits to—”

 

“Please, do not,” Spock called out, his voice sounding too loud and harsh as the holoscreen switched off.

 

“It’s alright, I’ll fix this,” Jim said, going over to the air-cooling unit and switching it off.

 

The sudden silence was heavy and Spock regretted his lack of patience. It was something he would have to meditate on before bed. Having another Jim around had his emotions in turmoil, but Jim’s need to keep his mind active by any means necessary was understandable. Spock would need to learn to cope with the disruptions it caused.

 

In truth, Spock had been purposely delaying his search for suitable employment for Jim because he had wanted time to observe him. He wanted to assure himself of the human’s mental and physical health before allowing him to be faced with any real responsibility. Now that he knew there were no immediate health concerns, and since Jim had proved himself to be experiencing no more emotional upset than was expected of someone in such a difficult situation, it was time to find a job for him.

 

“I was just trying to make things a little easier for you,” Jim said, the disappointment plain in his voice. “I guess I messed that up, didn’t I.”

 

It was decidedly unpleasant seeing any version of Jim in distress. Spock found that he wanted to make this man happy.

 

“As humans are fond of saying, it is the thought that counts.”

 

Jim seemed to brighten a little and Spock’s own unease began to vanish. The brewer beeped to signify that the cycle was complete, and it was with great satisfaction that Spock observed Jim’s widening smile. When Jim finally burst into helpless laughter the sound washed over Spock like warm waves of pure joy.

 

Spock let the feeling flow through him, embracing it, even when the ice dispenser on the refrigeration unit began to spit ice cubes out onto the kitchen floor.

 

_Every appliance, indeed._

 

Jim set about undoing the “upgrades,” and Spock went to the kitchen to clean up the mess. Spock had been very much aware that there would never be a dull moment with a James Kirk around, and so he did his best to take it all in stride.

 

Two days later Spock received a message from a residential institution on the edge of New ShiKahr. The small complex was home to some of the orphaned Vulcan children who had been evacuated from their schools when Nero had attacked. There were actually a significant number of young survivors because, naturally, during the evacuation efforts the safety of Vulcan’s children had been a priority.

 

It was only logical, as they are the future.

 

Spock did not like to think of all of the children who had gone to their schools on that fateful day not knowing they would never see their families or their planet again. If there was anything he could do to improve their situation then he would do it.

 

One of the Vulcan Elders had referred the Director of the New ShiKahr Youth Center to Spock, as he was in need of someone to program the newly acquired educational units at the center. The units functioned in much the same way the learning pits on Vulcan had, though they were more compact and better suited for the limited space available at the Youth Center. If Spock offered his services—and he would, of course—he would be assisting the Director in setting up and programming the units, as well as developing the curriculum for the children.

 

Spock saw it as a good opportunity to engage Jim’s restless mind. Even though Jim’s overly-enthusiastic and caffeine-fueled attempt to improve Spock’s home had not been entirely successful, Spock knew that he was actually very skilled with computers. This project would provide his mind with the stimulation it required and it would benefit the colony.

 

The timing was fortuitous, and Spock decided that he would tell Jim of their new plans the next morning.

 

Jim liked to take his morning coffee in the garden. He seemed to enjoy brief periods of solitude, so Spock did not disturb him until he saw him set down the empty mug and start to become restless, as he inevitably did after any period of stillness.

 

Spock went outside and sat beside him on the stone-slab bench, folding his hands in his lap and waiting for Jim to abandon his fitful musing and acknowledge him.

 

Jim heaved a sigh and looked over at Spock. “Hey.”

 

“Good morning,” Spock said.

 

“What’s up?” Jim asked.

 

Spock cast his eyes to the sky for a moment and cocked his head to the side. “What is up?”

 

Jim smirked. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean. I know all your tricks, old man.”

 

Spock conceded to that with a slight dip of his head and a quirk of his lips. “Very well. I shall tell you what is ‘up.’” Jim was watching him quietly, eyes twinkling with delight. “I have been asked by the Director of the New ShiKahr Youth Center—an orphanage just outside of New ShiKahr—to assist in setting up and programming their new educational equipment.”

 

“Okay,” Jim said, his interest made obvious by the slight widening of his eyes and the intensity of his gaze.

 

“As it is on the opposite side of the city, closer to the Academy, the Director has offered me a room at the Youth Center for the duration of the project so that I will be able travel with greater ease between the academy and the Youth Center.”

 

Spock could not be certain, but for a moment Jim seemed to draw in on himself. “Oh. So, you’re leaving, then?”

 

Realizing that Jim thought Spock meant to leave him behind, Spock hurried to clarify, “Yes, and I would appreciate your assistance on this project, if you are willing to accompany me.”

 

Jim closed his eyes for a moment and then smiled. “Yes, I’d like to help.”

 

“Good,” Spock said. “If you are amenable, I will contact the Director and inform him that he may expect us to arrive tomorrow evening.”

 

“I am…” Jim’s smile lit his eyes, “very amenable.”

 

Spock knew that humans often benefitted from a change in scenery and Jim was no exception. He packed a bag, and then asked Spock for another travel case so that he could bring everything he might need. Spock assured him that they could return home at any time should they need to, but Jim was so enthusiastic about their trip that in the end Spock indulged him.

 

“Jim, we are not leaving until tomorrow. You do not need to accomplish all of this today,” Spock said from Jim’s doorway.

 

Jim stood up from the pile of clothes, books, and PADDs that was surrounding him smiled sheepishly. “I know, I just figured I’d get it all done now so I don’t have to worry about it tomorrow.”

 

Spock nodded and continued to watch Jim, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth.

 

He was surprised to find that Jim’s small collection of belongings had grown so much in such a short period of time. Besides the few things he brought with him from the _Enterprise_ , he had the things Spock had bought prior to his arrival, as well as various items that he or Spock had purchased in the city. Remembering his own Jim’s fondness for paper books, Spock had taken to buying such items for Jim whenever he found them. To his delight, this Jim seemed to appreciate the books as much as his own Jim had.

 

So that Jim would not have to go to Spock every time he needed something, Spock had set up an account for him with enough credits that he could obtain any small items he wanted. Though Jim was frugal due to his limited funds, he had occasionally come home from a trip into the city with a package under one arm containing a book, a curious decorative item, or, more often, parts for whatever electronic device he was currently taking apart and rebuilding.

 

“Should we bring Bucky?” Jim asked suddenly, dropping a book into the open travel case.

 

At the sound of its name, the circular cleaning robot Jim had rebuilt came gliding out from under one of the side tables in the living room and moved swiftly toward Jim’s door. It collided with Spock’s heel and backed up, only to beat up against Spock again with an angry _beep_. As Spock looked down at the machine it spun in a circle and then rushed past him into Jim’s room.

 

“I think not,” Spock said.

 

“Aw, come on. You don’t want him to get lonely, do you?”

 

“Him?”

 

“You are no fun,” Jim said, and then, picking up the robot, “Don’t worry, Bucky. I wont leave you behind.”

 

Spock knew that Jim often engaged in such illogical behavior solely for the purpose of getting a response out of him, and he saw no reason to disappoint the human. His eyebrows rose into his hairline and he made no attempt to quell the good humor that was rising in him.

 

“I will leave you two alone, now,” he said archly. “I shall be at my desk, grading assignments if you need me.”

 

Spock went to his desk and sat down with a sigh. There was plenty for him to do—as well as grading assignments, there were also students requesting advice regarding course selection, and letters of recommendation to write—but Spock found himself feeling distracted.

 

His lack of control disturbed him, but when he realized that it was Jim’s excitement which was affecting him he could not bring himself to feel guilty over his lapse. This Jim, like his own, brought out certain human traits in him that infused him with a kind of ebullience that most Vulcans would never experience.

 

The equation was a simple one. The addition of James T. Kirk into his life made him happy, a kind of joy he was only able to experience because Jim’s love and acceptance allowed his human half to manifest itself in small but important ways. It was liberating and, in private, at least, Spock was beginning to regain and express some of the lightheartedness that had all but died along with his Jim.

 

He still had his concerns about this Jim, of course, but it would be pointless to deny himself the comfort of a friendship with him.

 

When Jim finally came out of his room and declared that it was time for lunch, Spock followed him into the kitchen and helped him prepare their meal. They moved around each other in the small space with choreographed ease and the silences between their occasional questions and answers was light and warm.  

 

Spock could sense the same disquiet in Jim that he always did when he was near him, but for now it was muted, and Spock hoped that with time Jim would find peace within himself.

 

He knew it would not be easy for the human, but he would do his best to help him along.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

As the air car pulled away, Jim set down the two large bags he was carrying and glanced over at Spock. Jim seemed impressed, and Spock, too, could not help but appreciate the thought and care that had obviously gone into the planning and construction of the Youth Center.

 

Spock had seen plans for the Center but had not had occasion to visit since the construction had been completed.

 

Six hexagonal buildings were connected to form one large complex, with a hexagonal courtyard in the center. The outer walls, dotted with two square windows per side, were painted a warm beige rose up to meet the rich, rust brown of the slanted roofing. Each domed, hexagonal roof was topped by solar panels, and set apart from the main structure, Spock could make out a large cistern attached to a building that undoubtedly housed a hydroponic garden.

 

“Nice,” Jim said. “How many kids are there here?”

 

“The center is home to forty four children of various ages,” Spock informed him.

 

Jim nodded but didn’t say anything, his face becoming solemn as he processed this information. His eyes briefly darkened, as though a shadow had passed over them and he pursed his lips.  But after a few moments of silent contemplation his mood seemed to rapidly shift and he picked up his bags and turned to Spock.

 

“Well, let’s not keep them waiting,” he said brightly.

 

As they started toward the entrance the double doors opened and a middle aged Vulcan woman greeted them before ushering them into the small reception area.

 

“I am T’Prea. I will take your to your room and you may remain there, if you wish, until the Director is ready to see you.”

 

Spock’s gaze darted to Jim to see if he seemed concerned about the single room T’Prea spoke of, but he just politely nodded and examined their surroundings as they stepped into the entranceway. The interior of the Center was painted in warm colors that seemed to soothe and welcome and Spock was pleased to see that Jim seemed at ease here.

 

As they began to walk, Spock wondered what had kept the Director from greeting them himself, since he had no doubt been anticipating their arrival. He did not have to wonder long.

 

T’Prea, gliding along with her hands clasped behind her back, said, “Murek was delayed due to a disciplinary issue, but he will be with you as soon as he is free.”

 

She had led them into the inner hallway, which looked out on the courtyard, then she went down a more narrow hallway, stopping at the end of it. She turned to her right, opening an olive colored door and stood aside to let them enter their room.

 

“Thank you,” Jim said.

 

T’Prea raised an eyebrow, and with a curt nod of her head, turned and walked away.

 

Jim looked taken-aback, and his offended “Huh!” nearly made Spock smile. He stifled the urge, though, reminding himself that around so many Vulcans it would not be appropriate to indulge in emotional displays, such as he was becoming accustomed to doing when he was alone with Jim.

 

A room divider cut through the middle of the space, a metal framework with canvas-like material stretched over it. The desk by the door was small but housed a computer terminal beneath the shelves stacked above it. There was plenty of space for their PADDs and the few books Jim had brought with him, and Spock decided he was satisfied with the room.

 

Spock set his single travel case down and looked at the narrow mattress that stretched out from the wall. He knew there would be an identical mattress on the other side of the divider and, after noting the square of warm sunlight against the tan material, he came to a decision.

 

“Jim, if it is acceptable to you, I will take this bed.”

 

“Sure,” Jim said. He walked around the divider and a moment later Spock heard his bags hit the floor with a thud.

 

Curious, Spock walked to the edge of the divider. Jim was leaning heavily against the wall, gazing out of the window at the sandy expanse of desert beneath the sunset-reddened sky. Spock had known Jim would enjoy being near the window, especially since it would help him to feel less confined. It would also mean that Spock would not have to pass through Jim’s space to get to his own, which would give the human more privacy.

 

Jim finally noticed that Spock was watching him and turned, smiling. “I guess I should unpack.”

 

“It will be quite an undertaking,” Spock said, looking down at Jim’s bags. “Do not strain yourself.”

 

“Ha! You think you’re pretty funny, don’t you.”

 

“I think no such thing,” Spock said in his most dignified voice.

 

He got the reaction he hoped for. Jim laughed openly, deeply, a pure sound that seemed to fill their room with warm light. He allowed himself the illogic of this whimsical thought, and for a moment he felt that he was young again.

 

Jim began to dig through his bags, unceremoniously dumping his things into the drawers of the dresser opposite his bed. Spock went over to his own bag, and began to empty it onto his bed so that he could organize his things before putting them away. He was unable to suppress a faint smile when he heard the clanking and series of beeps that meant Jim had unpacked his robot.

 

They had both put their belongings away and Jim was sitting at the desk, talking animatedly to Spock, when a knock came at their door.

 

Spock stood from where he had been seated on his bed and opened the door. Murek, the director, greeted him and then Jim, apologizing for not meeting them personally upon their arrival.

 

Spock judged Murek to be approximately one hundred and forty years old, and though his features were strong and stern there was a hint of kindness in his eyes that was refreshing to see. His robes were somewhat rumpled, but clean, and he had the air of one who is kept very busy but is satisfied with the work he does.

 

"Whenever you are ready I will give you a tour of the Center," Murek said once they had been properly introduced to each other.

 

"Yes, we’d like that, thank you," Jim said. Spock could tell that Jim liked Murek, and Spock was inordinately pleased that Murek seemed to like him in return.

 

Murek clasped his hands in front of him while he walked, fingers steepled, and he looked back at Jim frequently as he he told them about the facility. Walking through the main hallway, Spock turned his attention to the tall windows that overlooked the courtyard.

 

Desert plants lined the perimeter of the courtyard and stone paths led from each of the two doors to the fountain at the center. Water bubbled up over smooth, carefully piled stones and flowed down into a pool approximately two meters in diameter. Spock noticed smooth, flat stones along the path and surrounding the fountain and guessed that this space was utilized for meditation.

 

Murek confirmed this a moment later. "The children often come here to meditate, though some of them seem to prefer to find solitary corners for this purpose."

 

All of the inner walls they passed opened into hallways that bisected each hexagonal portion of the building, and each hallway had two doors on each side. They passed the section that held the recreation areas and the playroom for the younger children, and then they came to the cafeteria, which was opposite the section they had entered through.

 

Murek paused by the open door and gestured inside. “The children are eating dinner at the moment, but when they finish here they will spend one hour in the recreation rooms before evening meditation, if you would like to meet them.”

 

Jim leaned forward and peered into the cafeteria, and they both watched the children for a moment before moving on. The dark little heads were bowed over their trays, and there were no unnecessary sounds or movements in the room. Jim frowned and followed behind Spock as they began walking again.

 

At the next hallway Murek turned and led them toward the furthermost doors. “This wing is where the classrooms are.” Murek opened first one door and then the other. “The educational units will be set up here.”

 

They looked into each of the rooms, which had lit up once the doors opened, and saw stacked crates and several desks, and half-filled shelves along the walls.

 

They moved on and next came to the section where most of the children slept. Spock caught a glimpse of bare walls and simple but functional furniture, and then Murek led them back to the hallway that would take them to the building’s entrance.

 

“These doors here lead to my office and sleeping area, and T’prea’s room, so if you can not find us elsewhere we are likely to be here,” Murek said, and then he pointed to the other set of doors. “These doors lead to the supply rooms. If you need anything for your rooms you will most likely be able to find it here, so do not hesitate to take whatever you require.”  

 

“Good to know,” Jim said. “Thank you.”

 

“You are free explore the center but I do ask that you remain quiet during meditation times and while the children are in the classrooms.” Murek seemed to direct this at Jim, though there was no change in his open demeanor.

 

Jim smiled. “I’ll try not to emote too loudly while the little ones are busy.”

 

“I am pleased to hear it,” Murek said, with a faint twinkle in his eyes. Spock felt himself warm toward him in response. It was important to Spock that people treat Jim with respect, and he was especially predisposed to like anyone who showed Jim kindness.

 

Murek soon after excused himself, no doubt having many duties to attend to, and Spock and Jim walked back to their room. The sun had nearly set, and the sleek sconces on the walls gave off a yellowish light that softly lit the hallways and made the honeycomb pattern of rust-red floor tiles gleam.

 

When they reached their room, Jim again sat at the desk, and after a moment of squirming and tapping his fingers against the back of the chair he sprang up.

 

“What’s this?” Jim went to the narrow door on the wall the desk was pressed against and pushed it open. The small room flooded with light as Jim entered, and Spock saw a sink, and a moment later heard Jim exclaim, “Oh, the bathroom, thank god. I was afraid we’d have to use the communal one.”

 

“That would have been a tragedy, indeed,” Spock said wryly.

 

Jim poked his head out of the bathroom and made a face at Spock. “Well, this way I wont have to shock any unsuspecting Vulcans with my uninhibited human bathroom behavior.”

 

At Spock’s confused look Jim went on, “Well, I’m pretty sure Vulcans don’t sing in the shower.”

 

“They do not, to the best of my knowledge.” Spock nearly mirrored Jim’s sly look, but a sudden memory surfaced and made his heart ache. His Jim had often been very vocal, singing in the shower and humming to himself as he cleaned his teeth and combed his hair.

 

Spock felt himself falling into memory, and though he knew he should resist, he gave himself up to it so that he could be with his Jim again.

 

Spock felt as though he was sinking, and darkness seemed to swell up around him. The ache in him grew sharper and he could almost smell his t’hy’la—the wet, hot scent of him as he stepped out of the shower and flashed Spock a wolfish grin. Spock could see him, like a bright light in the dark of his mind, tawny and taut as the towel fell away. In his mind Jim moved to the bed and stretched himself out languidly on it.

 

Spock began to fall deeper, warm and aching.

 

“Spock?” Jim’s voice pulled him back. “Are you okay?”

 

Hot fingers curled around his arm and through the cloth of his tunic he felt the soft buzz of Jim’s presence, faintly electric but more muted than his own Jim’s had been.

 

Spock opened his eyes to see bright blue eyes peering at him in concern. He suddenly regretted his lack of control and stood abruptly. Jim’s hand dropped away but he continued to watch Spock, his forehead creased and his eyes slightly wide with worry.

 

“You stopped moving, and you just… went away,” Jim said, reaching out but not touching him. “You left me.”

 

Jim’s voice was calm but his eyes betrayed him. This Jim had already been left behind by Spock’s younger self, and Spock knew that, as resilient as he seemed, he was still vulnerable. Spock must control himself better. He was responsible for Jim’s well-being and could not afford to lose himself in his memories. His pain would devour him if he did. The ragged ends of his broken bond would finally pull him under if he did not take care.

 

“I am well, Jim,” Spock finally said, willing his body to relax. “Do not trouble yourself.”

 

“Are you sure? Do you need to lie down?” Jim asked. “If you need to see a healer—”

 

“That will not be necessary,” Spock assured him, hoping Jim would not press the matter further. “The children should be in the recreation room by now. I would like for us to visit with them, if you do not mind.”

 

“Yeah, let’s do that,” Jim said eagerly. “Come on.”

 

Spock followed Jim out of their room, still working on strengthening himself against further lapses. Jim hovered near him, but he did not ask any more questions and seemed to accept that Spock was unwilling to speak about the episode. For this Spock was grateful, and he tried to project enthusiasm, despite his dark mood.

 

The recreation room they entered seemed to be favored by the younger children, and there were sixteen of them busy at various tables around the room. The majority of them were as quiet and subdued as they had been in the cafeteria, and Jim’s frown returned as he watched them. Only a few of them looked up or acknowledged the newcomers in any way, and Spock had to admit to himself that their lack of curiosity was troubling.

 

Jim closed the door behind them and they moved further into the room, greeting T’Prea when she stood and approached them.

 

“Children,” T’Prea said in a commanding tone, “please welcome Spock and James Watson to the Center. They will be staying here while they assist in setting up the new educational equipment.”

 

Jim cringed at T’Prea’s use of his new name, but he flashed a radiant smile as sixteen little voices raised in greeting. The children’s voices were clear but monotone, and some of them lifted their small hands in the ta’al before they all fell silent. They watched T’Prea with solemn eyes, as though waiting for her permission to go back to their activities, and when she gave no further sign of requiring their attention they returned to their games.

 

T’Prea looked askance at Jim and seemed to have little desire to interact beyond what was required by decorum. The introductions finished, she quickly went back to the low table she had been seated at when they entered. She picked up the PADD she had left on the table and began to read to the little ones who sat on either side of her.

 

Still heavy with the memories that had recently resurfaced, Spock found that the children’s quiet demeanor and listless movements added to the weight of his mood, and he began to feel very tired.

 

“They’re like zombies. They must be miserable,” Jim murmured, just loud enough for Spock to hear.

 

“They have lost their planet and their families,” Spock said, somewhat irritably. “The cause is more than sufficient.”

 

“No, I—I know that,” Jim stuttered. “That’s not what I meant to—”

 

“Then what precisely did you mean?”

 

“I don’t—I’m not—” Jim began to look a little frantic. “Spock, I’m sorry.”

 

There was a definite note of pleading in Jim’s voice, and Spock realized that Jim was afraid to argue with him. Spock could feel the human’s frustration, but even more than that he felt Jim’s fear. It rolled off Jim in waves so strong that the children nearest to them began to unconsciously move away.

 

Jim was so afraid Spock would abandon him that he didn’t dare even defend himself. Spock felt ashamed.

 

“Jim, I apologize if I was impatient with you,” Spock said, moving closer to Jim and meeting his eyes, “but if you continue to project your emotions in this manner you will disturb the children. You must shield your thoughts, as I taught you.”

 

Jim blanched, but a moment later Spock felt the cloud of emotion around them dissipate. Knowing Jim needed the comfort, Spock did not move when Jim pressed further into his space.

 

“I just mean that—I think they need to be cheered up,” Jim explained.

 

“Vulcans handle loss differently than humans do,” Spock said more patiently, “and therefore their methods of coping are different.”

 

Jim looked unconvinced. “Yeah, I guess.”

 

Jim gave a little shrug, and then went to a table by the door, where seven children were solving various puzzles or playing games with each other. He stood behind the two older children at the end of the table and when they looked up at him he asked “What are you guys playing?”

 

The older child, whose long hair was braided and twisted into a bun on the back of her head, met Jim’s eyes and said evenly “I am not a ‘guy.’”

 

“Of course not,” Jim said, very seriously. “My apologies. What game is this?”

 

“This game is kal-toh. The object is to arrange these rods, or, t’an, into a perfect sphere.” Her voice was high and perfectly measured, and Spock could tell Jim was holding back a smile as she continued, “It would be very difficult for a human to master, though I will attempt to teach you, if you wish, once Tonnak and I have finished our game.”

 

“Oh, I think this human might surprise you. Just let me know when you’re ready to teach me… what is your name?” Jim asked.

 

“I am Anik.”

 

“Anik. Good, well, I’ll let you get back to your game.”

 

As she turned back to the jumble of rods Jim looked at Spock and grinned broadly. He was about to approach another group of children when a boy, who appeared to be about fourteen years of age, came into the room looking worried and somewhat disheveled.  

 

“T’Prea, Selva is misbehaving again. I attempted to calm him but he became unmanageable and went into the courtyard,” the boy said.

 

“Stay here with the young ones, Vorik. I will attend to him.” T’Prea gracefully rose to her feet and left the room.

 

Jim, whose curiosity was obviously piqued, gave Spock a significant look and followed after her.  By the time Spock gathered his dwindling energy and went out the door Jim was turning the corner into the main hallway. Spock did not hurry after them, and by the time he reached the courtyard both Jim and T’Prea were standing at the far end, peering up at the roof.

 

“Selva, come down from there,” T’Prea called out, her voice tight. “Your behavior is illogical and disruptive.”

 

Curious, Spock moved closer, so that the sunshade above was not obstructing his view, and looked up. The sky was dark and there was no moon, but enough of the glowing courtyard light reached the roof that Spock could just make out the form of a child. He was smaller than any of the other children they had seen and was sitting with his chin on his knees and his arms wrapped around his legs.

 

He seemed very young and vulnerable, and Spock did not even need to look at Jim to know he was being consumed by worry for the boy.

 

Spock moved to stand at T’Prea’s side and asked, “How old is he?”

 

“He is five years old and the youngest child we have here at the Center. His father was on Vulcan when the planet was destroyed and his mother survived for long enough after to give birth to him. Unfortunately, she soon after succumbed to the pull of the broken bond,” T’Prea explained.

 

Spock heard a sharp intake of breath from Jim as the human turned on them.

 

“Hey! Don’t talk about him like he’s not right here,” Jim snapped at T’Prea, gesturing to the huddled figure on the roof.

 

T’Prea turned her attention to the boy again, ignoring Jim. “You are being foolish. Come down before you injure yourself.”

 

“No.” The boy’s voice was somehow both delicate and firm.

 

“This is unacceptable.”

 

“And yet you must accept it, since I have no intention of coming down.”

 

At that Jim chuckled and T’Prea gave him an icy look. This time it was she who was ignored as Jim edged in front of her and called up to the boy, “Hello, Selva. My name is Jim.”

 

The boy shifted a little but did not respond, and a moment later Jim continued, “I understand that you don’t want to come down right now, but would it be alright if I came up?”

 

Selva sat up straighter, and though Spock could not clearly see his face in the low light, he could hear the interest—and a hint of surprise—in the boys voice when he replied. “That would be acceptable.”

 

Jim went to one of the three poles that held the triangular sunshade over the courtyard and began to climb up.

 

Spock and T’Prea spoke at the same time:

 

“Mister Watson, if you would please—”

 

“Jim, if you would wait, we could—”

 

Spock looked over at T’Prea, and she seemed to give up then, clasping her hands tightly in front of her and stepping back to let events unfold.

 

“Jim, please be careful,” Spock settled for saying. How many times had he said those exact words to his own Jim?

 

“Don’t worry,” Jim gasped as he hoisted himself up between the pole and the wall, “I’ve got this.”

 

Jim eased himself onto the roof, his legs dangling over the edge, and Spock experienced a moment of dread during which his lately overactive imagination supplied him with an image of Jim falling and cracking open his skull. Mercifully, the moment passed quickly as Jim pulled himself up and began to carefully make his way over to the boy, who was now on his feet.

 

When Jim reached Selva he dropped into a cross-legged position and pulled the boy down next to him, and then he smiled reassuringly at Spock. He bent his head down to whisper into Selva’s ear, and though Spock knew he should grant them privacy he could not help but strain to hear what Jim was saying. His curiosity grew when Selva turned to answer him, his voice a soft murmur that rose and fell with barely contained emotion.

 

Both T’Prea and Spock gave a start when Jim suddenly cackled with laughter and said, in a much louder voice than he had been using, “Yeah, I know what you mean, but don’t tell them that.”

 

“I will not. It would be pointless,” the boy assured Jim.

 

They began to speak in low voices again, and Spock noted that Selva slowly began to lean toward Jim until their arms were touching. His whole posture changed then, and he seemed to melt into the human, his face upturned and his body relaxed as he listened and responded to Jim’s voice.

 

Finally, Jim uncrossed his legs and moved into a crouch, helping Selva get to his feet.

 

“So I guess you and I are kinda in the same boat, here,” Jim said.

 

Selva cocked his head to the side and responded “Jim, we are on a roof. I have never been aboard a watercraft.”

 

Jim grinned. “No? Well, what I meant to say is, our situations are similar.”

 

Selva nodded gravely and took Jim’s hand when he offered it. When they reached the pole Jim climbed down first, dropping the last few feet to the ground, and then Selva came down after him. When Selva reached the level of Jim’s chest, Jim picked him up and set him on the ground, and they both turned to face T’Prea.

 

“I apologize for my disruptive behavior.” The boy looked as though he might like to say more, but after an approving look from Jim something in him seemed to settle and he waited quietly for T’Prea to respond.

 

T’Prea still appeared displeased, but after a moment of pursing her lips she nodded her head in acceptance of his apology, and said “It would be best if you returned to your room for the remainder of the evening. You may meditate there, if you wish.”

 

Selva looked at Spock, and then up at Jim. “Go on,” Jim said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

 

“Goodnight, Jim,” Selva said.

 

“‘Night, Selva.”

 

T’Prea left the courtyard with Selva walking dutifully behind her, as though the incident on the roof hadn not happened. Though still very curious about the child, Spock found that his energy had been drained and he wished to lie down.

 

“Jim, I think I shall return to our room now. If you require sustenance you may go to the cafeteria and prepare something for yourself,” Spock said.

 

“Aren’t you hungry? I could bring you something.” Jim looked concerned, though he was already edging toward the door.

 

“No, thank you.” Spock followed Jim into the hallway, and after they passed a line of children on their way to meditate he added, “And it would be best if you were quiet upon your return, as the children will be meditating.”

 

Jim seemed about to roll his eyes, but settled for blinking slowly a couple times, and then said good-naturedly, “I’ll try to restrain myself.”

 

It was not that Spock doubted Jim’s ability to control his impulses, but that he was all too familiar with the tendency for ‘excitement’ to pop up and confront the human at every turn. Or, at least, such had been the way with his own Jim.

 

Back in their room, Spock laid down on the bed he had chosen and began to sort through his thoughts as he prepared for sleep. He was concerned about the pattern that had begun to arise since this new Jim entered his life. Though it was acceptable to look back fondly on the events in one’s past, it was unhealthy to become so consumed by memory that reality faded out for a period of time.

 

It was not uncommon for one’s controls to deteriorate somewhat with age, but where a broken bond was concerned—especially one as deep and strong as Spock’s had been with his Jim—it was dangerous to slip down too far into memory. It was still possible, after all, for him to be pulled down into death by the aching, grasping ends of the broken bond.

 

He must control. However complacent Jim sometimes made him feel, however familiar his presence, he must remain in control.

 

He was startled from his thoughts when something small thudded against him. He opened his eyes to see Jim standing in the doorway, and then looked down at the nutrition bar on his chest. He raised an eyebrow, and allowed Jim to pull him up so that he was sitting on the edge of his bed.

 

“I know you said you aren’t hungry, but it would really make me feel better if you ate something,” Jim said. He seated himself at the desk and gave Spock what he had heard humans refer to as ‘puppy dog eyes.’

 

Spock frowned a little, refusing to be completely taken in by the obvious ploy, but he tore the wrapper open anyway. “Very well.”

 

“Good. Thank you.” Jim’s lips thinned as he held back a smile. He took the wrapper and disposed of it while Spock ate, and then went into the bathroom.

 

Spock heard the water running as Jim washed his face and cleaned his teeth, and when he came out Spock went into the bathroom and made himself ready for sleep. When he entered the room again he could hear Jim shuffling around on the other side of the divider, and then a contented sigh as Jim laid down.

 

“You can turn the light off whenever you’re ready,” Jim said.

 

Spock didn’t respond, but after slipping into his bed clothes he turned off the light and made himself comfortable on his bed, more quietly than Jim had. He clasped his hands on his chest as he stared up at the darkened ceiling, and wondered at the strange twistings and turnings that life continued to present him with.

 

He heard Jim clear his throat, and moment later Jim said, “I really like that Selva kid.”

 

“Yes, you would.”

 

Jim laughed. “Goodnight, Spock.”

 

“Goodnight, Jim.”

 

It soothed him to have Jim so near, and he slipped peacefully into sleep within minutes, all of his concerns falling away.

  
  
  
  



	7. Chapter 7

The next morning Spock’s inner clock woke him up in time to join the children in the cafeteria for breakfast. When he left for the Academy Jim was still asleep. Spock had slept soundly once he sorted out his thoughts, but he wondered if Jim had been unable to fall asleep right away, as was often the case when he had a lot on his mind.

 

Spock took an early lunch and made a call to Jim, but he must not have been in their room—Spock had not really expected him to be—so he left a message.

 

Spock found himself eager to return to the Youth Center, though he did not let it distract him from his responsibilities at the Academy. Still, he felt a muted sense of excitement when he realized that his duties for the day were complete and he could leave.

 

He called for a transport, and when he reached the Youth Center he keyed in the code Murek had given him and entered, eager to learn how Jim had spent his day. He had a general idea of how Jim had passed his time when a cacophony of shrill chirps and raised voices echoed through the main hallway and into the entryway.

 

A moment after he closed the door behind him, he saw through the doorway ahead the blurred form of Bucky zooming by, filling the hallway with its earsplitting beeps. The robot was followed by several children, each visible for only a moment as they dashed past the doorway in pursuit of the robot. Their voices were discordant and surprisingly loud for such small beings, and despite his many years working with humans, Spock found himself taken aback by their unrestrained behavior.

 

They were Vulcan, after all.

 

Spock walked to the doorway and entered the main hallway, only to have someone crash into him, knocking him back the way he had come. He flung his arms out, his hands finding only air, and then he felt himself being yanked upright. His knees buckled, but Jim’s arms were around him, steadying him, and he quickly regained his balance.

 

“Sorry! I didn’t see you there!” Jim said, looking startled.

 

“That is apparent.” Spock’s left arm and shoulder were aching where Jim had collided with him, and he was alarmed to realize that his legs were trembling beneath him as though they would give out again.

 

“Are you hurt?” Jim asked, rubbing his hands up and down Spock’s arms.

 

The gentle contact soothed Spock, and he felt his body relax, but such a public display was not appropriate so he reluctantly pulled away. “I am perfectly functional.”

 

Jim gave him a penetrating look. “Uh huh. Well, I’d better go make sure they aren’t wreaking havoc in one of the classrooms or something.”

 

“Indeed,” Spock said, walking behind Jim as the human started off down the hall in the direction he had been going before crashing into Spock.

 

Jim had only taken a few steps when he slowed so that Spock could catch up with him, and as they walked side by side Spock found himself unconsciously matching Jim’s stride. When Spock realized how easily he had fallen into step with Jim his footsteps nearly faltered, but he caught himself and focused on his breathing. He knew that if he let himself he could easily descend into memory again, walking the corridors of the _Enterprise_ with his captain, but he must not.

 

He was saved from any loss of control by the sight that greeted them as they passed the angular bend in the hallway near the recreation rooms and came upon the children and a very disgruntled T’Prea.

 

T’Prea stood in a circle of children who were all offering their advice as she struggled to keep her hold on the robot that was rattling in her hands. A robotic arm shot out and began spin so that its open claw fell in a series of quick blows against T’Prea’s chest, its beeping accelerating and rising in pitch as though it was throwing a tantrum. T’Prea held Bucky at arms length and gave the robot a few vicious shakes in response.

 

Spock would never have admitted to the strength of his amusement at that moment, and he regretted that he had not been able to act more quickly to relieve T’Prea of her burden. Fortunately, Jim darted forward and pulled Bucky out of her hands, deftly opening a small panel and keying in a code that caused the robot to go still.

 

The children watched silently, eyes wide, as T’Prea seemed to undergo a significant inner struggle before finally clasping her hands behind her back.

 

“Children, we will discuss this later. Leave us,” She said, locking eyes with Jim.

 

The children gave Jim a sympathetic look and retreated silently down the hall.

 

“This machine belongs to you?” T’Prea asked, her voice very steady.

 

“It does. This is Bucky. I really didn’t think—”

 

“Yes, I am inclined to believe that you did not think,” T’Prea said. The tone of her voice did not change, but Spock bristled at her words. She went on, “If you intend to continue causing disorder here at the center, then I respectfully request that you refrain from interacting with the children.”

 

“I didn’t mean to cause disorder.”

 

“That may not have been your intent but it was certainly the result. Some of these children are still struggling with the effects of broken bonds and they require peace and structure in their environment and activities.”

 

“We were experimenting,” Jim said defensively. “They were helping me make alterations to his programing. I’ve been working on giving him a personality.” Jim looked at Spock, as though for support, and then back at T’Prea. “It’s an educational experience in robotics, and some of them really have an aptitude…”

 

Jim’s voice had been growing more unsure with each word, and when T’Prea cleared her throat he fell silent. Spock agreed with T’Prea that order must be maintained, but he did not appreciate the tone she was taking with Jim. He did not allow himself to feel anger, though, and calmly turned to T’Prea.

 

“I apologize for the disruption, and I will speak to Jim about the matter in private,” Spock said.

 

This seemed to satisfy T’Prea, but Jim glowered at him. Spock did not shift nervously under his glare, but uneasiness fluttered to life within him and he felt the need to alleviate the feeling as soon as possible.

 

“We will return to our room now,” Spock said, still addressing T’Prea but moving closer to Jim. “If you will excuse us.”

 

Spock began walking to their room, relieved when he heard Jim’s footsteps behind him. When he reached the room, he went inside and set his bag down on the desk. Jim was still scowling faintly when he came through the door and closed it, though his expression softened when Spock sat down at the foot of his bed with a tired groan.

 

As if on cue, Bucky emitted a mournful set of descending notes, falling silent again when Jim impatiently thumped its control panel.

 

“Jim…” Spock said helplessly. He did not want to upset Jim further by arguing with him, but  the issue was one that must be discussed. He knew Jim was likely to be stubborn, and he did not know where to begin.

 

Jim stood watching him for a minute, and then went to his side of the room and put down the robot. Spock was surprised when a  moment later he came around the divider and crawled onto Spock’s bed, sitting cross-legged behind him.

 

“What are you doing?” Spock was somewhat startled by the unexpected contact of Jim’s hands on his shoulders.

 

“I’m giving you a massage,” Jim said, beginning to rub and knead Spock’s shoulders. “And you need it, too. Your muscles are stiff, old man.”

 

“They are not,” Spock said before he could stop himself.

 

Jim chuckled, and Spock quietly—and very gratefully—accepted the massage.

 

Spock allowed himself to drift pleasantly for a time, but he would not be deterred from his purpose for long. “Jim, you must make an effort not to upset the children’s routine too much.”

 

“They were having fun.”

 

“Indeed, it appeared that they were,” Spock admitted. “However, could they not have fun in a less disruptive way?”

 

“I don’t get it. Those kids have been through a lot.” Jim’s voice rose and his hands stilled. “What’s the problem with them enjoying themselves a little? I know you Vulcans don’t like to admit to feeling anything, but after all the sorrow, why shouldn’t they experience a little happiness?”

 

“I do not disagree with you Jim,” Spock said. Jim’s hands began to move again, diligently working down his back. “But could you not compromise? If you can draw them out with games and distractions that is good and well, but please keep in mind how important our culture is to us, especially now that we have lost so much.”

 

Jim seemed unable to argue with that and continued the massage, rubbing his thumbs in firm, relaxing circles on Spock’s lower back.

 

“You’re right. I didn’t mean for things to get out of hand like that,” Jim said. “I need to keep Bucky on a leash.”

 

Spock nearly sighed when Jim pulled away and moved to sit next to him.

 

“I think I’m just upset because I really want to help these kids, but there isn’t all that much I can do.” Jim rubbed his hands over his face. “And it doesn’t help that T’Prea doesn’t seem to like me.”

 

“It does seem that she is… not overly fond of you,” Spock agreed. Jim’s face fell and Spock heard himself say, “I did not care for the way she spoke to you. She would do well to watch her tone.”

 

Spock hadn’t meant to express himself so strongly, but he was pleased when the result was a brilliant smile from the man next to him. Even so, he felt compelled to add, “Still, please try not to give her a reason to actively dislike you. For my sake.”

 

“All right,” Jim said, still smiling. “I’ll play nice. I’d hate to make things awkward for you while we’re here by incurring the quiet Vulcan wrath of our hosts.”

 

“You’re cooperation in this matter is greatly appreciated.”

 

“Anything for you,” Jim said. A moment after the words left his mouth he became flustered and jumped up from the bed, rubbing his hands together. “So, good talk. I’m glad we got everything sorted out.”

 

Spock tactfully ignored Jim’s sudden retreat and said, “As am I.”

 

Jim sat down at the desk and leaned back in the chair, looking relaxed again after a couple quiet minutes had passed. “We should join the kids in the cafeteria for dinner. I’d like you to meet some of them.”

 

“I would like that,” Spock said. “In the meantime, I believe the director requires our assistance setting up the educational units.”

 

“Right. That is why we’re here, so I guess we should get busy,” Jim said. Then his lips quirked a little. “Murek... he’s pretty laid back for a Vulcan. I’m glad we’ll be working with him on this project.”

 

_And not T’Prea_ , Spock finished for him in his head. “He is a remarkably balanced individual, and well suited for his position here,” is what Spock said out loud.

 

Jim nodded in agreement, and then rose from the chair with an enthusiastic bounce. “All right, lets go make ourselves useful.”

 

Spock followed him out of their room, relieved that their talk had gone so well. Spock knew that once his will was set Jim was nearly impossible to sway, but apparently this Jim, like his own, was a reasonable man.

 

Spock was warmed by the fact that Jim seemed to want to please him, and a feeling of contentment began to wrap around his being.

 

*

 

When it was time for the evening meal to be served, Jim led Spock to the cafeteria. It did not seem to have taken him long to make friends among the children, because several of them looked up from their trays and gestured for him to join them, or simply gazed at him with bright eyes. Selva, slouching over his tray when they entered, stood up from his seat when he caught sight of Jim.

 

Jim smiled at the boy and waved him over to a long table toward that back that was only half full. After Jim and Spock got trays of food they all sat down, Selva settling himself between Spock and Jim.

 

“Hey, Selva. How’s it going?” Jim asked. “Have you been behaving yourself?”

 

“How is what going? And yes, I have been following the rules, as I told you I would.”

 

“Good,” Jim said, using his fork to spear a vegetable. “And I was using a human phrase to ask how you are.”

 

“Ah.” Selva’s voice was small, and he grew thoughtful before answering. “I am well. But, I am concerned about Bucky. Will T’Prea allow us to continue assisting you with his re-programming?”

 

Spock did not miss the quick glance Jim cast his way. “Well, I think maybe I should continue with that project on my own, but if you like, there are some really interesting games I can teach you guys.” When Selva gave Jim a look of confusion he added, “And when I say ‘you guys’ I am referring to both the male and female children. It’s another human saying.”

 

“Illogical,” Selva proclaimed. “Why do humans not just say what they mean?”

 

“Because we like colorful, interesting, and often informal speech,” Jim explained, barely suppressing a smile. “You should try it some time.”

 

“I see. I will consider it.” Selva, who appeared to be deep in thought now, turned back to his food and began to eat.

 

Jim looked over and winked at Spock, and then began to eat his own food. It seemed strange to Spock that the boy next to him, eating in quiet contemplation, was the same distraught child who Jim had coaxed off of the roof.

 

Jim began to tell him his ideas regarding the educational units but stopped talking when the abrupt sound of a chair being pushed back echoed through the cafeteria. Jim’s eyes narrowed as he watched an exchange between the children at the next table over.     

 

A young girl had stood up and was tugging at the front of her robe to shake off the juice that had been spilled on it. The girl who had been sitting next to her rose as well, looming over the other, the challenge written in the set of her shoulders and the narrow slits of her eyes.

 

“I think you should sit somewhere else. We do not want you here,” said the taller girl.

 

Jim had walked around the table and come between the two before Spock even realized he had left his seat.

 

“What’s the problem here, T’Ra?” He addressed the taller girl, who folded her arms across her chest as she transferred her steely glare to Jim. Spock wondered if Jim already had all the children’s names memorized. He would not have been surprised if he did.

 

“We are not comfortable sharing a table with Tolek, and respectfully request that he sit elsewhere,” T’Ra said.

 

Spock examined the other child more closely, taking in the feminine, shoulder length hair style and the pale blue robes, cut in a style favored by girls. The child squared her shoulders, and though she was clearly in distress, her voice was steady when she spoke.

 

“As I have previously stated, I wish to be addressed as Valeia. I do not understand why you insist on calling me Tolek.”

 

“Because you are a boy.” T’Ra’s lip curled in a small sneer.

 

“You do not get to decide that.” Valeia’s cheeks were flushed green and her eyes fiery.

 

Jim put his hands up between them to keep them separate. “Whoa. Easy.” Jim chewed his lip for a moment and then turned to T’Ra to say, “Let me get this straight. Valeia here used to be Tolek, but now wishes to identify as female, and you have a problem with this because…”

 

Spock felt his lip quirk up at Jim’s genuine look of bafflement.

 

“Because it is not natural,” T’Ra finished for him.

 

Jim actually chuckled, but then caught himself and made his face serious. “T’Ra, I assure you, there are far stranger things in nature than someone wanting to identify as the opposite gender they were assigned at birth. There are alien species out there with three or four genders, and even some that change gender.”

 

“But Tolek is not one of these aliens. He is Vulcan,” T’Ra said triumphantly, “is he not?”

 

“True,” Jim said. He gave Valeia a reassuring smile.

 

“I am,” Valeia confirmed in a low voice.

 

Jim turned his attention back to T’Ra. “Alright, let’s look at this logically. You are attempting to ostracize Valeia because you’re uncomfortable with her gender identity. Let me finish, please,” Jim held up a finger when T’Ra seemed about to interrupt. “Despite the fact that Valeia has done nothing to deserve censure, and has not caused you any harm, you have attacked her verbally and made her feel unwelcome.”

 

T’Ra was now staring silently toward the entrance of the cafeteria. Spock followed her gaze and saw Murek in the doorway, watching the exchange, and wondered how long he had been there.

 

“You’re having an emotional reaction to something that doesn’t affect you in any way,” Jim said. Though his voice was gentle, T’Ra’s eyes widened a little at his words. When Jim saw her aggressive stance relax somewhat he continued, “Intolerance is illogical. It can’t alter what is, and it hinders growth and change.”

 

T’Ra remained quiet for nearly thirty seconds and then looked over at Valeia. “I should not have spilled juice on you. I apologize for my behavior.” Valeia gave her a curt nod of acknowledgement and then T’Ra turned to Jim. “I will take into consideration the things you have said. If you will excuse me, I must go meditate now.”

 

T’Ra picked up her tray and left.  

 

Valeia looked up at Jim. “Perhaps I should sit at your table.”

 

Jim smiled warmly. “I don’t think anyone will mind if you sit here.” He looked to the other children at the table for confirmation. “Will you?”

 

“That is acceptable.”

 

“It will not trouble us.”

 

“Please, sit down.”

 

The children’s faces were earnest and curious. As Valeia returned to her seat Jim backed away. “Great. Enjoy your meal.”

 

Jim came around the table and sat back down in his chair, grinning when Murek appeared with a tray and took the seat across from him.

 

“I see that you have allowed logic to conquer your human emotionalism,” Murek said placidly as he arranged the items on his tray. “At least, for the moment.”

 

Spock raised an eyebrow in surprise, but when he looked up Murek’s eyes were full of amusement.

 

“T’Prea will be so pleased,” Jim said. He did not try to hide his smirk.

 

“Indeed,” Murek agreed. “Once she recovers from the shock.”

 

“Ha!” Jim burst out, startling some of the children nearby. He put his hand over his mouth to smother his laugh.

 

“It could not last,” Spock said, shaking his head at Murek. He could not resist joining in, knowing how much expressions of humor pleased Jim.

 

“Great, now you two are going to gang up on me, aren’t you?” Jim pouted. “At least Selva here is on my side. Right, Selva?”

 

“I will always be on your side, Jim,” Selva assured him, his large brown eyes solemn in their seriousness.

 

Spock felt something clench in his chest. He knew Jim must be feeling something similar because his brow furrowed and his expression grew heavy, though his smile did not falter.

 

Murek chewed his food and eyed Selva thoughtfully.


	8. Chapter 8

When Spock returned to the Youth Center after a long day at the Academy, he immediately knew something was amiss.

 

As soon as he came through the door he noticed several groups of children whispering to each other in the the main hall, and when he entered the corridor and started to walk toward his room he saw Murek and T’Prea deep in conversation. When T’Prea looked up and saw Spock she said something sharp to Murek and then turned and walked away from him.

 

T’Prea urged the children to clear the hallway and then went to Spock, speaking before Spock could even draw a breath to greet her.

 

“Mister Watson has misplaced four of the children,” T’Prea said. Smugness did not suit her, Spock decided.

 

“Misplaced?” Spock raised an eyebrow.

 

“They were with him during afternoon recreation time and now they are missing.”

 

Jim came around the corner, a line of curious children trailing behind him, and heaved a sigh when he saw Spock. Spock excused himself, turning away from T’Prea’s haughty glare.

 

“Jim, what happened?” Spock asked the distressed human.

 

“Well, a few of the kids and I were playing a game and… now I can’t find them.” Jim shifted nervously and looked around as if he was hoping the missing children would come trotting down the hall.

 

“What game were you playing?” Spock asked, struggling to understand how such a thing could have come to pass.

 

“Hide and seek?” Jim grimaced.

 

“Jim.”

 

Jim looked abashed, and said ruefully, “Those little rascals like to _win_.”

 

“Jim, we must find them.”

 

“Yes, I know. I’ve been looking but,” Jim whipped his head around. “Murek! Were they in the garden?”

 

“They were not, unfortunately,” Murek said, joining them. “It seems we must broaden our search.”

 

“Are you certain they are not in the Youth Center? In the classrooms, or,” Spock remembered Selva’s prefered hiding place, “on the roof, perhaps?”

 

“There is no need to search the Center. According to the computer they are no longer in the building. Or on it.” Murek looked over at Jim. “I must confess, this is a most unusual children’s game.”

 

Spock could see that Murek was worried, but he was grateful that the man was able to perceive Jim’s distress and was handling the situation with delicacy. Jim rubbed the back of his neck and gave Murek a half-smile at his gentle teasing.

 

“It is possible that they went into the city, so I will alert the appropriate authorities,” Murek went on. “If they took a transport we will be able to track them. Jim, you should check the area surrounding the center.”

 

“Right, I’m on it.” Jim started for the front entrance and Spock went after him.

 

“Maybe we _should_ check the roof,” Jim said as they walked to the road, their feet crunching on the red, gravelly sand. “I did tell them one of the rules was that they couldn’t leave the Youth Center. I don’t understand why they’d—”

 

Jim stopped walking, panting softly in the early evening heat. Spock could see him thinking. He could feel the moment when Jim reached some revelation and the air around him crackled with excited energy.

 

“Jim, what is it?” Spock asked.

 

“Those little…” Jim mumbled. He turned on his heel and ran back to the Youth Center.

 

Spock came through the front entrance in time to see Jim go into Mureks office, and he hurried to join them, burning with curiosity. Murek was just ending a call when Jim rushed over to him and planted his hands on the desk.

 

“May I use your computer?” he asked, wiping the sweat from his brow. “I think I know how to find the children.”

 

“Yes, of course.” Murek nodded and stepped away.

 

“Where are all the children right now?” Jim asked as he began to tap away at the keyboard.

 

“T’Prea has moved them into the recreation rooms for now,” Murek informed him.

 

Murek gave Jim an openly curious look but Jim was focused on the computer and murmured “Perfect.”

 

A moment later he said, in a loud, clear voice, “Computer, locate Anik, Selva, Valeia, and Tonnak.”

 

He had pulled up a map of the Center, and an alert box popped up, informing him that those four children could not be located.

 

Jim rubbed his hands together and glanced nervously at Spock before saying “Computer, locate everyone currently in this facility.”

 

The map flashed and then clusters of green dots began to appear. The highest concentration were in the recreation rooms, one lone dot appeared in one of the bathrooms, three dots in Murek’s office, and, finally, four dots appeared in Jim and Spock’s quarters.

 

“Unbelievable!” Jim spat out, leaping to his feet and running out the door.

 

Spock, just behind him, said “You did not think to check our room?”

 

“I did peek in there eventually, but I didn’t thoroughly check. We were outside our door when I started counting, and I didn’t think they’d be sneaky enough to circle around after I started looking for them.”

 

Jim reached their door and threw it open, and then went to the room divider. He heard Jim curse under his breath and came to stand at his side, Murek just behind him.

 

Valeia and Tonnak were on Jim’s bed playing with a deck of cards Spock recognized as belonging to Jim. Selva sat on the floor watching the game, and Anik stood near the window studying a PADD. They looked up as Jim put his hands on his hips and sighed with relief.

 

“Have we won the game?” Valeia asked.

 

“Yeah, you… you won,” Jim said softly. “So, who’s brilliant idea was it to erase all information pertaining to your biosigns from the computer?”

 

“It was Selva’s idea, though I implemented it,” Anik said proudly.

 

Jim turned to Murek, looking anxious. “This was completely my fault. I should have been clearer about the rules, and I really should have thought—”

 

“James, do not trouble yourself. Although the children should have foreseen the consequences of winning the game in this manner,” Murek paused to give the children a stern look, “no harm was done. And now you will have a better idea of what to expect from them, so that something like this is not likely to occur again.”

 

The children—and Jim—looked thoroughly chastised. Spock caught Murek’s eye and gave him the faintest shrug then turned to Jim. “Perhaps we should resume our work on the educational units. I am sure Murek will let us know if he needs help undoing whatever changes the children have made to the computer.”

 

“I will, indeed,” Murek said, with a quirk of his lip. “Children, please join T’Prea in the recreation room. She has been concerned about your well being, and will be relieved to learn that you are unharmed.”

 

The children filed out of the room. Selva stopped for a moment to fix his large eyes on Jim, and when Jim gave him a smile and a comforting pat on the shoulder, he followed the others out. As Murek left, Spock was tempted to thank him for his patience, but he did not want to offend Jim, and so made no remark. As Murek had said, no harm had been done, and it was best to put the situation behind them.

 

He only hoped T’Prea would be able to do the same. He understood her need for order and discipline, but he still wished that she could appreciate the goodness in Jim.

 

*

 

The educational unit Jim was working on was nearly complete. Jim stepped out of the booth-like shell and nudged it with his hip until it was perfectly aligned with the one next to it, and then he sat down to watch Spock work. Spock had opened a panel near the base of the unit and was digging around in what Jim had been referring to as the machine’s ‘guts’ as he tried to locate a wire he suspected had come loose.

 

“Here,” Jim said, kneeling next to Spock and shining a small light into the open panel. “Is that better?”

 

“Yes, thank you.”

 

“Spock?”

 

“Yes, Jim?” Spock grunted as he adjusted his position to reach farther into the unit.

 

“Forget it.”

 

“It is already forgotten.” Spock could not resist saying. He was busy, and if Jim wanted to know something he would have to come out ask.

 

Jim chuckled. He was silent for nearly a minute before his thoughts overwhelmed him again and he felt the need to speak.

 

“Selva’s a really great kid. He’s five years old, and that thing with the computer?” Jim grinned and shook his head. “You’ve got to hand it to him. He’s clever.”

 

“Clever and willful, much like someone else I know,” Spock said.

 

“He doesn’t have a family...” Jim’s voice tapered off and Spock looked up again, settling more comfortably onto his side.

 

“None of these children do,” Spock reminded him. “They have all lost so much.”

 

“No, I know. It’s just,” Jim seemed to struggle for a moment, then moved closer to Spock and sat down with his feet under him, “I think we can help him.”

 

“How?”

 

“We could be his family.”

 

Jim was biting his lower lip when Spock looked away. He could not bear to look upon that open, earnest gaze. Spock’s work in Starfleet, and later as an ambassador, had kept him busy enough that he hadn’t had the time to regret never having children. Perhaps if things had been different, if his own Jim hadn’t…

 

Spock abandoned that line of thought as his chest began to tighten and pressure began to build behind his eyes. How did it still hurt so much?

 

“We could adopt him. Bring him home with us,” Jim was saying. Spock mentally shook himself and focused on Jim’s voice. “He really likes us, you know. I think he’d be happy.”

 

After a few slow, deep breaths, Spock said “I do not believe now is a good time to make such a commitment.” He hated the way Jim’s face fell, the way his disappointment darkened his bright eyes. “I think that for now you should focus on yourself. Adoption is something we can consider once you are more settled in your new life, and more sure of your path.”

 

Jim scooted back a little and aimed the light at the open panel. “Yeah, that’s… perfectly logical.” He gestured at the panel but didn’t meet Spock’s eyes. “I guess we should get back to work.”

 

Spock wanted to say something comforting, to reach over and put an arm around Jim’s sagging shoulders. He was too tired, however, and his bones ached from sitting on the floor, so he went back to work, ignoring the heavy atmosphere and the pain in his mind.

 

*

 

There were no more incidents with the children, and Jim was well-liked by all of them, even forming bonds of friendship with some of them.

 

T’Prea seemed to resent his presence at the Youth Center, but was always civil with him, so Spock could not complain. It was inevitable that Jim would win her over as well, given enough time.

 

When a sudden stand storm swept in off the desert, Jim got his chance to prove himself to T’Prea, though that was not what was on his mind at the time.

 

When the sand storm passed, Spock returned to the Youth Center to find Jim carefully cleaning and bandaging a wound on T’Prea’s forehead.

 

Apparently, T’Prea had become nearly irrational with worry when she realized that Peleia, a very self-sufficient little seven year old, had not been seen since before the storm began. The child had requested permission to visit the hydroponic garden to tend to the plants and had not returned.

 

Although New Vulcan’s sand storms were not known to produce the deadly electric shocks of sand-fire that had been common on Vulcan, it was still possible for people to become lost and injured, or even killed.

 

With a rope tied around her middle, T’Prea had managed to reach the hydroponic garden, only to find that Peleia was not there. It was very lucky that Peleia had given up trying to reach the main building so quickly, and opted for curling up with her robe over her head. Jim—who had decided to go after T’Prea as soon as she ran out the door—stumbled upon the child not far from the entrance of the garden. He wrapped her in the spare robe he had brought, and was joined by T’Prea soon after.

 

A piece of debris, hefted aloft by the raging winds, struck T’Prea in the head and she fell to the ground, unconscious.

 

Jim went on, and when the winds eased enough that Murek was able to spot him from the entrance, he handed the child over and went back for T’Prea.

 

Now he sat in the Youth Center’s infirmary, eyes red and skin dotted with small cuts, scolding T’Prea for not keeping still. She was trying to turn so that she could see the tube in Jim’s hand, and he gave her a firm look until she turned her head back around.

 

“I’m nearly done. I’m just applying a little barrier cream,” he explained.

 

“You do not have medical training.”

 

“The skin is still sensitive so I just want to make sure it’s protected. That was a deep gash on your forehead, you know,” Jim said. He added under his breath, “A little gratitude wouldn’t go amiss.”   

 

T’Prea bit her lip but said nothing and when Jim stepped back and said, “There! Done,” she promptly stood up and and straightened her robes.

 

“Would you like me to attend to your wounds?” she asked.

 

“No, that’s fine. It’s just a few small cuts.”

 

“Then I will go to Peleia,” T’Prea said. She had started to walk away but turned around again and added, “Allow me to express my gratitude. Though prone to illogical behavior, you are a man of good character. I thank you.”

 

Having said what she wanted to say, she did not give Jim time to respond, and went quickly to the other side of the room where Murek was sitting with Peleia.

 

Obviously amused, Jim turned to smile at Spock. “Well, look at that! I’m making friends.” He rubbed at his dirt-smudged cheek and pushed his sweat-slick hair out of his face.

 

“I am pleased,” Spock said. After a few moments of silence Spock gently suggested, “Perhaps you should take a shower at some point before we go for our evening meal.”

 

“Are you saying I stink?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Jim barked out a laugh and T’Prea shushed him from across the room. “I guess the honeymoon’s over,” he whispered quite loudly to Spock as he walked to the door.

 

“Honey moon?”

 

Jim looked over his shoulder, his expression gleeful.

 

Spock suddenly felt weightless, and very warm.

 

*

 

Spock looked at the heavily lined face in the bathroom mirror and felt as though he was facing a stranger. In a way, time had stopped when he lost Jim, and he still expected to look in the mirror and see the face of the person he had been when Jim had given him that last kiss goodbye. All the years that had come after had been meaningless, empty, and it felt as though it had been just yesterday when he had looked into Jim’s eyes for the final time.

 

If he had only known…

 

But he would not do that. He would not invite the memories—and with them the pain—to keep him company tonight. He had purpose now, after all. There was the colony, and a struggling version of Jim who needed him, and he would not let that man down.

 

Spock was about to leave the bathroom when he heard Jim’s voice near the door. For a moment he was confused, but then realized that Jim must be recording a message to send to Doctor McCoy. He stopped at the door, not wanting to enter the room and disturb him.

 

Jim’s voice was soft but clear. “I’ve been doing everything you said, and I’m taking care of myself. You were right. You were right about…” there was a brief, aching pause, “about everything.”

 

The urge to go to him then was strong, but before Spock could move Jim began speaking again, his voice lighter. “Spock’s been taking care of me. I think you’d like him. He’s more laid back. Not like my—not like the other Spock. And the kids here are great. Selva—he’s the one I told you about in my last message—is so clever and kind, and… I wish I could help him. I wish I could help all of them, take away their the pain and loss. They’re so brave.

 

“It’s been an eye-opening experience, being here. I’ve learned a lot from these kids. I learned a lot from you, too, actually.” Spock heard Jim laugh and his heart fluttered in his side at the sound. “Anyway, Spock and I are going to head over to the cafeteria for dinner in a minute, so I guess I should wrap this up. Keep taking care of my ship, and let me know how things are going when you get a chance.”

 

There was another pause, this one somehow less heavy, and then Jim said “I miss you, Bones.”  

 

Spock felt a profound sorrow for all that this Jim had lost, and how lost he must feel. He wanted to take him in his arms and protect him from that feeling, to nurture his faded spirit and keep him safe.

 

When Spock entered the room he was still heavy with feeling, but Jim just smiled at him and said “Let’s go get some grub.”

 

*

 

“Valeia, would you like to sit with us today?” Jim asked.

 

Jim had been making it a point to wake in time to take his breakfast with Spock and the children, and on this particular morning he was exceptionally alert and cheerful. They had been at the Youth Center for two weeks now and, though Jim did not know it yet, it was time for them to leave.

 

Spock was certain that Jim would not be happy about leaving, and was uncertain of how to broach the topic.

 

Valeia, who was retrieving her breakfast tray, gave Jim a distracted look. “T’Leng has invited me to sit with her this morning, but I thank you for the offer.”

 

Jim looked over at the tall, sturdy Vulcan girl who was waiting for Valeia with a tray in her hands, and then nodded. “Okay, maybe at lunch, then.”

 

Spock was already seated, with Selva next to him in what had become the boy’s habitual spot between them. At first Spock had been inclined to think that Selva sat between them out of jealousy—he did seem somewhat possessive of Jim around the other children—but the boy’s open interest in Spock quickly disproved this.

 

In fact, Selva had taken to following Spock around whenever he came back from the Academy, and this morning he had walked with Spock to the cafeteria rather than waiting outside the door while Jim finished getting ready.

 

Jim made his way over to their table and sat down, cheerfully greeting everyone.

 

“Vorik. How is your hydroponics project going?” Jim asked the lanky teenager sitting across from him.

 

The boy looked startled for a moment, but sat up straighter and cast a quick glance at Anik, who was sitting next to him. “The adjustments I made to the mineral nutrient solution seems to have been effective. The yel-slor plants are flourishing.”

 

“Good work,” Jim said. Then, looking over at Anik, he added “Did you know Vorik was working on genetically engineering plants?”

 

“I did not. That is most impressive,” Anik said, looking over at Vorik in interest.

 

Vorik appeared so pleased with himself that Spock had to press his lips firmly together to keep from smiling. Jim was unable to restrain his own smile, but, fortunately, Vorik’s attention was engaged elsewhere and he did not see.

 

Selva tugged at Jim’s sleeve, vying for his attention. “Jim, now that you are finished helping Vorik, will you have time to assist me with my computer project?”

 

“Yes, absolutely!” Jim’s face became mock-serious, and he added, “But only if you use what I teach you to do good.”

 

“Of course.” Selva nodded and took a long sip of his juice.

 

Jim watched Selva, his affection for the boy evident, and Spock knew he must not delay in telling him of their impending departure. It was better that he had time to adjust to the idea, since he had become so close to everyone at the Youth Center.

 

“Jim,” Spock started, pausing to consider his phrasing. “Our work on the equipment is nearly complete, so we will not be here much longer.”

 

Both Jim and Selva froze. Spock swallowed hard, worried by the look of panic that was filling Selva’s eyes and the sadness in Jim’s.

 

“But we’re not done yet, and there’s still a lot we can do here to help out,” Jim argued.

 

“I spoke with Murek and he is confident that he can complete any of the work that remains on his own.”

 

“Yes, but we still— I could—” Jim began to flounder and Spock could not resist a small breach of etiquette, reaching around Selva to lay a hand on Jim’s arm.

 

“Unless we plan to stay here permanently, I think we must leave soon so that everyone at the Center can return to their routine. The longer we stay, the more difficult the parting will be.”

 

Spock let his hand drop, but did not break eye contact.

 

“It’s already going to be difficult. But I guess you’re right,” Jim said.

 

Selva pushed away from the table, stood up, and walked out of the cafeteria without a word. Jim watched him go and when he turned to look at Spock again he appeared devastated.

 

Spock could not subdue the illogical rush of guilt he felt.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

Upon their departure from the Youth Center, many of the children had given Jim and Spock various little gifts, mostly things they had made during recreation time. Some of the older children settled for verbal expressions of their appreciation for all that Jim and Spock had accomplished at the Center, their voices admirably controlled and their demeanor dignified.

 

Selva had retreated to the roof and would not come down, not even when Jim went up after him.

 

Spock hated to cause the child such distress, and was more hurt than he should have allowed himself to be by the blame he saw when the child turned his eyes on him.

 

Not willing to remove Selva from the roof by force, Jim had eventually retreated back to the courtyard in defeat. He had made Anik promise that she, and the others Selva had become close with, would try to lure him down after they left.

 

When they arrived home Jim had gone straight to his room, complaining of a headache. Spock gave him some time to himself, but began to worry when he did not come out for lunch. Jim usually had such a hearty appetite, but he had not eaten since the evening before, and even then he had eaten very little.

 

Spock knocked on his door, and a full minute later, Jim finally called out, “Yeah?”

 

Spock took that as permission to enter and opened the door. Jim was on his back on the bed, one arm resting on his chest and the other across his forehead.

 

“Jim, will you not come eat?” Spock asked hopefully.

 

“I’m not really hungry. Thanks, though,” Jim said. When Spock continued to stare down at him in concern he said, “I’ve still got a pretty bad headache, so I think I’ll just stay in bed for the rest of the day, if that’s all right.”

 

Spock recognized the dismissal, but did not acknowledge it. He did not like to see Jim looking so haggard. “Have you taken anything for the pain?”

 

“Yeah, I did. I think I just need some rest, and I’ll be fine. Really.”

 

When Jim grimaced and squeezed his eyes shut, rolling onto his side, Spock dropped down beside him and put a hand on Jim’s shoulder. Despite his worry, he kept his voice calm when he spoke. “Let me help you. I might be able to ease some of your pain.”

 

Jim slowly rubbed a hand over his face and after a few deep breaths asked “You mean like with a meld?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“No,” Jim said too quickly. He looked contrite and added, more gently, “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

 

Spock was momentarily surprised by Jim’s vehement response, but then he remembered what had happened when they had melded during the shielding lesson.

 

Spock had been shocked by what he had found, or more accurately, what he had not found in Jim’s mind, and Jim had been deeply hurt by his response. Spock burned with shame now at the memory of how careless he had been with Jim’s feelings, and could not blame him for his unwillingness to repeat the experience.

 

“Very well,” Spock said. “I will leave you now. Rest, Jim, and please let me know if there is anything I can do to help.”

 

Spock was pulling away when Jim’s hand caught his, giving it a light squeeze. “Thanks, Spock.”

 

Spock nodded and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

 

*

 

“Jim,” Spock called out from the front door, “you have a visitor.”

 

Spock had been on his lunch break at the Academy when the idea had struck. A week had passed since they left the Youth Center and Jim had remained distant, quietly brooding. Jim had applied for several positions in New Shikahr and was scheduled for an interview at a company responsible for computer maintenance and repair, though his enthusiasm for finding work seemed to have waned.

 

Spock had wanted to do something for him to help lift his spirits, and after a conversation with Murek—who still frequently consulted with Spock—he realized the solution was simple, and really quite obvious.

 

Spock opened the front door wider and Selva walked in, eyes wide as he looked around.

 

“What’ve you got for me, Spock?” Jim’s voice came from the kitchen. Spock heard him approaching and then felt the press of Selva backing into his legs. When he looked down at him he was surprised to see that Selva appeared anxious, but as soon as Jim came around the corner Selva’s face lit up. He took a step forward, and then another.

 

Jim’s eyes widened in surprise, and he broke into a grin. Giddy laughter bubbled in his chest as he came forward and kneeled in front of Selva. He seemed to want to take Selva in his arms, his hands wavering at his sides, but he settled for patting Selva’s shoulder and then forming his fingers into the ta’al.

 

Selva mimicked the gesture and then turned to give Spock a faint smile.

 

“Selva will be staying for dinner, and then I will return him to the Youth Center. Murek thought it would be beneficial for him to spend some time outside the Center,” Spock explained.

 

It was very pleasing to see Jim so excited. Spock followed contentedly behind the two as Jim gave Selva an enthusiastic tour of their home, smiling to himself as Selva watched Jim with adoring eyes and all of the sadness of the past week drained out of the human.

 

Selva and Jim were sitting on the stone bench after a brief tour of the garden when Selva gave him an eager look and asked, “Will you allow me to help you with your adjustments to Bucky’s programming?”

 

Jim’s blue eyes sparkled with mirth, but his tone when he spoke was almost business-like. “I’m pleased you asked. I haven’t worked on him since I was at the Center, and I’d really appreciate your help.”

 

Selva hopped up from the bench and followed Jim inside. Spock stood for a moment in the garden, closing his eyes and enjoying the warm current of air that gusted over him and ruffled his hair. But at the sound of a crash and Jim’s buoyant laughter he turned, going back to the house. He stood in the doorway, a look of fond exasperation on his face, as Jim and Selva wrestled with Bucky in the middle of the living room. Spock wondered if Jim deliberately programmed the robot to be troublesome. He did seem to thrive on the unpredictable.

 

Spock prepared dinner and talked with Jim and Selva from the kitchen, offering his advice whenever their project seemed to get the better of them—which was often—and soaking up the joy that seemed to vibrate in the very air around him.

 

He wondered again how his life would have been different if he and his Jim would have decided to become parents, but the thought seemed to throw a darkness over the happy scene in front of him so he pushed it back down. There was no point in wondering how different things might have been.

 

They ate dinner, Spock and Selva sitting at the table and Jim leaning against the counter despite Spock’s insistence that he bring the desk chair into the kitchen.

 

After dinner they moved to the living room, and although it was nearly time to take Selva back to the Youth Center, Spock did not interrupt when Jim and Selva began to discuss what they would like to do next.

 

“Maybe you could teach me more Terran games,” Selva said.

 

“No hide and seek,” Spock put in.

 

Jim laughed. “Agreed. Well, let me think. What is a good children’s game…”

 

Jim’s expression grew very thoughtful, and then after a moment, troubled. Jim’s breaths began to come more quickly, as though he was struggling to get enough air. Selva waited patiently for him to speak, unaware of Jim’s distress, but Spock was filled with an icy apprehension that nearly made him shudder.

 

“When I was a kid I had—” Jim stopped suddenly, his face going blank. “It was… uh, I don’t remember.”

 

“Jim?” Selva cocked his head, his brow furrowing.

 

“Nothing. It’s just— What was I going to say?” Jim looked thoroughly confused, and a little frightened. He stood up and began to pace the living room. “We were talking about games, and I was remembering...”

 

“Jim, do not stress yourself. Here, come sit down.” Spock patted a spot on the couch next to him.

 

“No. Don’t coddle me. I was saying…” Jim continued to pace back and forth, his eyes becoming almost frantic. “I was born in Iowa. My mother is Winona Kirk. I remember, Spock.”

 

He spoke with conviction, but his eyes were still slightly wild, as though he was preparing to fight.

 

“Jim.” Spock spoke firmly, and when Jim looked at him Spock gave a faint nod of his head in Selva’s direction.

 

Jim’s face instantly transformed, his muscles relaxing and an easy smile forming. “Sorry, Selva. I completely lost my train of thought. Why don’t I teach you how to play chess? That’s a good Terran game that Spock and I used to play.”

 

Selva expressed interest in the game and Jim went to go retrieve the chess set from Spock’s room. When he came back he refused to make eye contact with Spock, but he gave no further signs of emotional upheaval.

 

Jim and Selva only had time to play one game before Spock insisted that it was getting late and Selva must go home. They took it well, and Jim promised Selva he could come again, looking to Spock for confirmation. Spock gave him a nod in the affirmative and Selva went peacefully with Spock once the transport arrived, appearing far more relaxed than when he had arrived.

 

When Spock returned home he was tired and aching in every muscle, and very eager to go to bed. His progress to his bedroom was abruptly halted when Jim crashed into him, knocking him back a step and wrapping Spock tightly in his arms.

 

“Thanks for that,” Jim said, his hot breath gusting against Spock’s ear. “You made him so happy.”

 

Spock returned the embrace, inhaling Jim’s warm, salty scent. He wanted to reply that he had brought Selva over in order to please Jim, but it had been most rewarding to see the child so positively affected by the visit. He found that he, too, wanted to make Selva happy, and not just for Jim’s sake.

 

When Jim pulled away he was smiling but apologetic. “I’m sorry I jumped on you like that. You just—You’re wonderful, do you know that?”

 

Affection swelled in him, filling him with a contentment that bloomed into pleasure when Jim smiled so openly at him.

 

Spock took a deep breath before replying, “You yourself are a most remarkable man.”

 

“I’m glad someone thinks so.” Sadness crept into Jim’s eyes.

 

“I do. Goodnight, Jim.”

 

“Goodnight.”

 

It wasn’t until after Spock was in bed, his eyelids heavy and  fluttering closed, that he realized he had not spoken to Jim about the strange episode while Selva had been visiting. He made a mental note to bring it up whenever Jim seemed receptive to such a serious discussion, and decided to watch him more carefully for signs of further distress.

 

He did not need to watch him so carefully, because when the signs came they were painfully evident.

 

*

 

A week and two days had gone by since Selva’s first visit, and Selva had come back to spend time with them on three occasions. Jim sometimes became withdrawn and pensive for short periods of time, but he did not have another strange outburst, and the talk Spock had meant to have with him never happened.

 

Then came the day of Jim’s job interview.

 

Spock made it a point to be home early, finishing up his scheduled lecture and putting aside his research activities for the day so that he could show Jim the support he knew was so important to humans. He offered to accompany Jim into the city proper, but Jim insisted he wanted to go on his own, so Spock wished him well and waited patiently for his return.

 

Jim’s interview had been scheduled for eleven thirty, but he did not arrive back home until nearly three thirty.

 

Spock had been on the verge of making calls to try to locate him when heard Jim’s footsteps in the hall, and then a moment later, the slam of his bedroom door. The same apprehension he had felt when Jim had experienced the strange episode during Selva’s first visit returned full force. He stood up, unsure of how to proceed, and then heard a thump and a crash.

 

He rushed to Jim’s door and threw it open, unprepared for the sight that greeted him.

 

Jim stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by the objects that had been atop his shelf, and he was clutching his bloody hand. Spock went to him and tried to take his wrist but he pulled away with a hiss. The knuckles of his right hand were split open and bleeding, and Spock realized he must have punched something.

 

“These walls,” Jim gasped, “are really solid.”

 

Feeling a bit dazed, Spock said, “Yes, earthbag homes are very sturdy.”

 

He had a sick feeling in his stomach, and as Jim continued to gingerly cradle his hand he asked, “Jim, what happened to upset you?”

 

Spock felt his gut begin to twist in fear as Jim began to laugh, a low chuckle that grew louder and almost hysterical as Jim looked around the room.

 

“This is it.” Jim gestured to the room. “This is all I have, Spock. I’m losing it. I’m losing it all. It’s just…” Jim violently expelled a breath of air and said, “gone.”

 

“What do you mean?” Spock asked, trying not to give in to the rising panic. “Jim... explain.”

 

Jim’s shoulders sagged and he seemed to close in on himself, radiating guilt and fear.

 

“Please, talk to me,” Spock said. “Did something happen at the interview?”

 

Jim licked his lips and then finally met Spock’s gaze. “Yeah. Yeah, something happened.”

 

“What? What happened?”

 

“I…” Jim grew calmer, but grim, as though facing an inescapable horror, “I couldn’t answer all of their questions.”

 

“Were you nervous?” Spock asked, knowing that was not the problem but unable to keep from hoping. “It is understandable if you experienced some anxiety, given all that you have been through.”

 

“No. No, Spock, I wasn’t nervous. I know computers, but some of the things they asked me to do, I couldn’t. I couldn’t remember. They asked me about my work history, things like that, and I thought back on my life, on _his_ life, and the memories were blurry.”

 

“All of them?” Spock asked.

 

“Too many of them. I’m fucking losing it, Spock. I’m losing myself.” The expression in Jim’s eyes was heartbreaking. “Maybe those memories aren’t really mine, but they’re all I have.”

 

Spock was silent for a minute, struggling to find the right thing to say. “You will make new memories”

 

Jim just shook his head. “Who am I? I’m not sure I know anymore.”

 

Jim sat on his bed, his hand dripping blood down onto his pants. Spock let out a long breath and then walked out of the room, relieved to have a moment to collect himself. He retrieved the first aid kit from the bathroom and—after a brief pause outside Jim’s door to strengthen himself—he went back into the room. He sat down next to Jim and took the injured hand into his own.

 

Jim allowed Spock to clean and bandage the wounds on his knuckles, remaining silent and pliant under Spock’s touch. When Spock finished and closed the kit back up Jim pressed his hands into his lap and stared at his knees.

 

“What’s going to happen to me?” he asked.

 

“I do not know, Jim.” Spock shook his head. “But whatever happens, we will face it together.”

 

*

 

It had been easier than Spock expected to get Jim to agree to see Doctor Satel again. When Satel was joined by Doctor Karek, Spock knew the appointment would not go well. Doctor Karek had a brilliant mind, but was blunt in a way that was considered tremendously rude by anyone who did not prize non-emotion above all other things.

 

Jim submitted to the scans, answering questions to the best of his ability while his brain activity was monitored. The doctors examined the results, Karek impassive and Satel frowning enough to make Spock worry, and then they moved away to confer together.

 

Jim reclined on an examination table, staring up at the ceiling and tapping his foot in a quick rhythm. He had been avoiding Spock’s eyes, but when the doctors returned he sat up and gave Spock a nervous look. Spock moved closer to him, silently offering his support.

 

“What we have found is not encouraging,” Satel admitted straight away.

 

Jim let out a loud breath, which was ignored by the doctors, and Spock resisted the urge to reach over and clasp his knee. He did not know if Jim would want physical reassurance at this point, while he was so on edge.

 

Karek addressed Spock when he spoke. “The clone is showing signs of serious memory loss.”

 

“The clone,” Jim mouthed, shaking his head.

 

Karek did not even glance at Jim as he continued. "Some of his memories seem to be corrupted. If you compare the scans, it appears that the uploaded memories are beginning to degrade, though all of the clone's recent, naturally formed memories seem to be intact. I would like to run more tests to explore the slight discrepancy in recall between his declarative and implicit memories—”

 

"Corrupted? Uploaded?” Jim cut in, glaring at Karek. “What do you think I am? Some kind of computer?”

 

“Jim, please calm down,” Doctor Satel said.

 

“You know what? Screw you,” Jim snapped. “Don’t tell me to calm down.”

 

“Jim—” Spock started.

 

“We are only trying to help you,” Doctor Satel said.

 

“Yeah? Well, don’t. I’m done. I’m done being a fucking lab rat.”

 

Karek finally acknowledged Jim, turning to him with a quick, short motion. “You are being unreasonable. We seek to understand your condition.”

 

“You know what, answer one question for me, Doctor. Can you fix it?”

 

“It is unlikely,” Karek admitted.

 

“Great. That’s all I need to know. Good day, Doctor Satel. Karek.” Jim gave them a curt salute and hopped down off the examination table. “Spock, I’ll see you at home.”

 

“Jim, wait,” Spock said, but Jim had already walked out the door.

 

Spock considered chasing after Jim, but he knew that if Jim needed time by himself, it was best to let him be.

  
That didn’t make it any easier for Spock to go home alone. The hours he spent waiting for Jim to return felt long and empty.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst ahead!

For three days, Jim barely left his room. He only ate if Spock pressured him to, and he spent an inordinate amount of time napping each day, as though the emotional stresses had physically exhausted him. Spock was tempted to take use more of his leave time so that he could stay with Jim, but he realized there was nothing he could do as long as Jim remained withdrawn.

 

Jim was polite but very firm in his insistence that he wished to be left alone, and Spock respected his wishes.

 

He often came home from the Academy to find Jim insensible on the couch, a blanket wrapped around him despite the heat. Spock was beginning to contemplate taking drastic measures when he was reminded that James T. Kirk—any version of him, apparently—does not simply give up when life challenges him.

 

Four days after the visit with the doctors, Spock came home to find everything changed.

 

The house had been cleaned, the smell of coffee and freshly baked bread was in the air, and Jim was at the desk with a stack of books and his PADD. Jim greeted him without lifting his eyes from the PADD, absently tapping the stylus against the desktop.

 

“Hey, Spock.”

 

“Good afternoon,” Spock said politely. “Jim, what are you doing?”

 

“Studying.” Jim finally turned around, smiling and pushing his glasses up his nose. The glasses had thick black frames and made Jim appear older than he was.

 

“Ah,” Spock  said. “Where did you get those glasses?”

 

“Bones. Maybe it’s the accelerated aging thing, or maybe I’m just defective, because other-me doesn’t need them,” Jim turned and picked up one of the books. “Apparently I’m allergic to retinax.”

 

“I see.”

 

“I don’t.” Jim’s eyes darted to Spock and then back to the book, his lips quirking.

 

“A joke?” Spock asked.

 

“Yeah, a little one.”

 

“Very little.”

 

Spock was just pleased that Jim was no longer depressed, and so was hesitant to question him further, but his curiosity won out in the end.

 

“Not that I do not admire the pursuit of knowledge for knowledge’s sake, but may I ask what has inspired your sudden scholarly inclination? Is there anything in particular you are studying?”

 

“Did you notice that there are some things I’m not forgetting?” Jim asked. “Spock—I mean the other Spock—he taught me to speak Vulcan, but I’m not forgetting that. I had no trouble communicating with the kids and I can speak with the Vulcans around here with no problem.”

 

“That is true,” Spock said.

 

“There are lots of things I do every day that I know how to do because of the… implanted memories. It seems like I’m only losing the things I don’t think about very often. Personal memories, and knowledge I don’t use every day, that stuff is fading.”

 

“That makes sense,” Spock said. “So you are attempting to reinforce your knowledge so that it does not fade from your memory.”

 

“Right. Sort of a like a use it or lose it kind of thing.” Jim looked up at Spock with hope shining in his eyes. “I mean, this could work. Right?”

 

“The idea has merit, and it would do no harm to try.” Spock had noticed Jim making more errors recently when he spoke Vulcan, but he was still fluent and Spock knew it would be unkind to voice any doubts he had at this point.

 

Jim’s knowledge could all be regained, and so studying was a logical course of action, but once the memories of Jim’s life faded, he could not get them back. It was a sobering thought, and Spock hoped Jim’s optimism was warranted. The medical scans could tell them only so much, after all. Spock could not fathom what Jim was actually experiencing.

 

Over the course of the next few weeks Jim continued to study, processing and storing knowledge, or perhaps reinforcing what was already there, as he had suggested.

 

Some days he became agitated, such as when he could not recall a name or a fact, or when the solution to a problem he thought he should know eluded him. Most of the time he was patient, though, pursuing his studies with a steely determination that impressed Spock. He had forgotten how tenacious this particular human could be.

 

A month passed, and then two, and they settled back into their routine. Except for the occasional dark mood, Jim did not have any worrying outbursts, though Spock did not like listlessness that sometimes came over the human.

 

One evening Spock came home late to find Jim sitting in the garden, his body relaxed into a meditative position. At first Spock thought that he was meditating but when he drew nearer he saw the pained expression on Jim’s face and realized that Jim was struggling with something.

 

Spock sat down next to him. He had made it a point to make noise as he approached, so he knew that Jim was aware of his presence, however, the human did not acknowledge him.

 

“What are you doing?” Spock finally asked.

 

“I’m thinking,” Jim said.

 

“About what?”

 

“About… about him. About the other Spock.”

 

Spock felt various emotions stir up in him. He felt sorrow and, inexplicably, a touch of jealousy, and sought to control both feelings. Jim had opened his eyes but did not notice Spock’s struggle, continuing to speak in a distant voice.

 

“I keep trying to strengthen my memories, but I can’t relive every moment of my life every day, and stuff keeps just… slipping away. I don’t want to lose him. So much of it has faded already.” Jim’s voice grew raspy with emotion. “Maybe I was wrong about this. Maybe in the end I’ll have lost not only him, but all my memories of him as well. I’ll have nothing left.”

 

“Jim,” Spock said gently. “Why do you hold onto him?”

 

“Because I love him.” Jim gave Spock a challenging look. “It doesn’t matter that he can’t love me back. I know him and I love him.”

 

Spock let out a slow breath, urging his disquiet to seep out with it.

 

“Spock, almost all of my early memories are gone.” At this stark pronouncement Spock’s heart skipped a beat. Jim’s eyes were glistening. “I know I have a brother, but I don’t remember anything about him. I don’t know how I feel about him. I can’t remember my first girlfriend. Or boyfriend. I don’t know. I don’t know anything about myself, and that scares me.”

 

Spock reached for Jim’s hand and took it, giving it a light squeeze. Jim shook his head, and his voice came out a trembling whisper. “Spock, I’m afraid.”

 

“Even if you lose everything that you were, there is still so much that you will be. And as long as I live, you will never be alone,” Spock said.

 

Jim squeezed his hand back, but continued to stare off into the desert as the vibrant pink of sunset began to fade from the sky. A refreshing breeze blew, carrying with it the promise of a cold night, and Spock felt his skin prickle. There was despondency coming through the touch of Jim’s hand, but the emotion was muted, and Spock realized that Jim must be consciously shielding.

 

The sky grew darker and the twinkling of stars soothed Spock into a tranquility that he projected into Jim as much as their touch and Jim's shields would allow. Jim smiled in the growing dark, his body relaxed. Spock might have been content to remain there with Jim for hours, but then Jim’s stomach rumbled loudly, breaking their peaceful silence. They looked at each other, and Spock attempted to form his expression into something he was sure Jim would translate into: _Don’t look at me. I am Vulcan and would never make so undignified a noise_.

 

Jim laughed—a startling but soul-warming sound after so much sorrow—and stood up, pulling Spock up with him.

 

“All right, let’s go in,” he said. Once inside the house, Jim asked, “So, what are we having for dinner?”

 

“Whatever you wish,” Spock replied.

 

Jim grinned.

 

It never ceased to amaze Spock how quickly humans were able to fly up from the depths and into the soaring heights of emotion.

 

*

 

In the coming days Jim’s memories continued to deteriorate, despite his best efforts. The abilities guided by his procedural memory suffered less than his episodic memories, but it was those irreplaceable personal recollections which he most feared to lose.

 

It was possible that his theory about reinforcing memories was correct, but simply thinking about the things that his mind believed had happened to him did not seem to be enough. Little by little, a lifetime’s worth of memories were slipping away from him, and he was losing his sense of self.

 

Selva continued to visit them frequently. Though Jim was careful to maintain an upbeat attitude around the boy, Selva, perhaps due to his affinity for the human, seemed to be adept at picking up on his moods. It affected the boy is small ways, and Selva often remained in close proximity to Spock during his visits, as though he needed to be reassured by the older man that all was truly well.

 

Spock comforted him in any way he could, teaching him and distracting him with stories of his experiences while serving on the _Enterprise_.

 

Jim seemed to like these stories, especially when Spock spoke of his own Jim. Perhaps the lingering sense of loss in his words spoke to Jim’s own pain, or maybe the love so obvious in Spock’s voice comforted him.

 

When Jim began to withdraw from Spock again, that was when he really began to worry. In the past, even when Jim had been particularly moody and retreated to his room, Spock had still been able to communicate with him when he needed to, drawing out a response—even if a reluctant one. Now Jim replied in monosyllables, if at all, and spent too much alone, or staring bleary-eyed at nothing.

 

During one of Selva’s visits, Jim sat on the couch and stared toward the kitchen. Selva had twice asked him the same question and received no answer, and rather than pose the query again Selva stood up and left the room, going out through the back door and into the garden. When Spock got up to go after him, Jim watched in confusion for a moment and then got up and walked toward his room, still lost in his own thoughts.

 

Selva was standing at the end of the path, looking out at the desert. Spock went to him and crouched down next to him so that they could look each other in the eye.

 

“Jim is angry with me,” Selva said. Spock could tell by his tone that he had accepted this as fact and did not know what to do about it.

 

“He is not angry with you, Selva.”

 

“He is. He does not smile now when I come, not like before, and he does not play games with me anymore.”

 

Spock pursed his lips and felt a flare of anger over the hurt in Selva’s large brown eyes. He reminded himself that Jim could not help what was happening to him, and merely needed time to adjust. He felt a moment of  helplessness, caught between Jim’s sorrow and Selva’s hurt.

 

“Did Jim tell you of his implanted memories?” Spock asked. When Selva nodded he went on, “He is losing those memories, and soon he will be unable to recall any of the people who have been important to him in his life. His mother, his brother, his… friends.”

 

Selva looked frightened. “Will he forget us?”

 

“No. He will not forget me or you,” Spock assured him, “only the people he remembers because of the implanted memories.”

 

Selva looked relieved, and then a moment later, guilty for feeling relieved. “Can we help him? What about a healer?”

 

“No, unfortunately. We do not fully understand the process by which he was created. It is possible that there was some fault in their method, and that the mistake can not be corrected.”

 

“I do not care if he has faults. I am glad he was created,” Selva firmly stated.

 

“As am I,” Spock’s lips curved in a faint smile. “And I am glad that you are willing to be patient with him, because the coming days will most likely be very difficult for him.”

 

“I will. I will be patient.” Selva’s fervent avowal caused Spock to warm with affection for the boy. He gave him an approving look, and Selva brightened.

 

“Just remember not to take his behavior personally. He cares for you very much, Selva.”

 

Selva nodded and when they went back inside Jim was still in his room, so Spock took Selva home early, intending to have a conversation with Jim about his behavior when he returned.

 

When he got back Jim was awake, but not immediately able to communicate. He seemed bewildered, and Spock had to gently shake him to get his attention.

 

“Jim, I would like to speak with you about Selva,” Spock said once Jim seemed to come back to himself.

 

Jim, who had been lying on his back on the bed with his hands under his head, sat up and crossed his legs. “What is it?” he asked.

 

“You must modify your behavior when you are in his presence. I understand that you are struggling, but you must be more attentive when Selva is here, or I will not bring him to see you anymore.”

 

“Yes,” Jim nodded, staring past Spock. “Of course.”

 

“Jim?” Spock was not certain that Jim was fully aware of what he was agreeing to.

 

His face screwed up in concentration and he said, “I can still remember him. Those memories haven’t all faded yet. If I can just… hold on…” Jim’s voice trailed off.

 

“Him,” Spock said quietly. “You mean the other Spock.”

 

At the mention of that name, Jim’s eyes flew to Spock’s and he said, “Hey, Spock,” as though he had just noticed him.

 

Spock looked at Jim more closely, searching for something he could not define. Jim looked so worn, and he was losing weight, his Vulcan-style clothing hanging loosely on his thin frame. How had Spock missed this? How had he been unable to recognize just how severe Jim’s distress was? He had accepted Jim’s moods and his need for solitude, but his current state was truly worrying.

 

Jim needed sleep, but more than anything, he needed to let go of the memories he was so desperately clinging to.

 

Spock reached forward and took Jim by the shoulders, shaking him, perhaps too roughly. He knew that he was becoming emotional, but he urgently felt the need to jolt Jim back into the present. Jim’s health depended on it.

 

“Jim!”

 

Jim looked irritated for a moment, and then startled, and then his eyes finally focused on Spock and he grew sober.

 

“Spock, I’m sorry,” he said almost breathlessly. “I’m screwing things up, aren’t I? Shit.”

 

He started to rock his body forward and back, but Spock’s hands were still on his shoulders and held him still.

 

“Nothing is ‘screwed up,’ however, I must insist that you eat something and get some rest.”

 

“Yeah, okay.” Jim was compliant now, though still a bit dazed.

 

Spock served him soup and warm bread and Jim ate without complaint, and then Spock urged him to get ready for bed. He did, and once he was curled up beneath the blankets Spock kneeled down beside him.

 

“Jim, let me help you sleep,” he said, raising one hand to Jim’s face, but not touching him. He expected Jim to recoil as he had before but he only nodded his head and nervously licked his lips.

 

Before he could change his mind, Spock pressed his fingers against Jim’s warm skin and eased into his mind. To his shock, the landscape of Jim’s mind was utterly changed. Faded recollections drifted by him as wispy, colorless clouds, and there was a yawning emptiness where there had once been so many memories filed away. The void was dark and inspired horror, but something else caught his attention, tugging him further along.

 

Jim’s mind somehow felt warmer than it had before, and Spock briefly struggled with the desire to delve deeper before regaining his focus. He sent Jim into a deep sleep and then withdrew from his mind, sighing as he came back to himself.

 

Spock had concerns about the strength of his urge to meld more deeply with Jim, especially since Jim had not given him consent to do so, and so he resolved to meditate on the matter.

 

Spock slowly backed out of the room, tearing his eyes away from Jim’s peaceful face with some difficulty.

 

Yes, he was definitely in need of meditation.

 

*

 

When the Spock received an invitation to a Gala event in honor of the people who had recently given aid and donated to the growing colony, he thought it would be a good opportunity to provide Jim with a pleasant distraction.

 

In deference to the various species who would be in attendance, there would be a variety of foods and activities to provide enjoyment in ways that Vulcans in particular might not be able to appreciate.

 

“So, I’m your plus one?” Jim gave Spock a mischievous look as Spock pulled an outfit from his closet and handed it to Jim. “This is my size. When did you pick this up?”

 

“As soon as I received the invitation. I hope you do not mind, but I did not think you would find the idea of shopping for formal wear to be particularly appealing.”

 

“Yeah—No, I mean—” Jim hugged the outfit to his chest. “This is great. Thanks.”

 

“You are welcome,” Spock said. “I must ask, are you feeling well enough to go out tonight?”

 

“You mean, am I currently turning into a mindless zombie? Nah, I’m fine.”

 

“That is not what I meant, but I am glad to hear that you are well.”

 

“I know I’ve been a pain in the ass lately,” Jim rushed on when he saw that Spock meant to speak, “but I really am trying to keep it together. And you’ve been really helpful and patient. Thanks.”

 

“I only wish for you to be healthy and happy, whatever it takes. Your happiness is important to me.” Spock hadn’t meant to express himself quite so openly, and felt his cheeks began to flush. “Perhaps you should go get ready.”

 

“Alright.” Jim smiled, and then went to his own room to dress.

 

Spock had finished dressing and was sitting on the couch, waiting patiently for Jim. He hoped that Jim would enjoy himself, and that he didn’t have any memory related episodes while they were out. Though Jim was getting better at handling it, Spock was eager to see him have an evening free of stress.

 

Spock heard Jim clear his throat and looked up. Given that he was comfortably seated and calm, Spock should not have experienced a wave of dizziness, or a spike in his heart rate, but that was what happened when his eyes fell on Jim.

 

Spock had acquired formal Vulcan robes in a navy material with a very faint sheen and gold stitching, and Jim looked stunning. Spock still felt a little tug of concern over how slender Jim had become, but his face had a healthy glow and his eyes were bright as he held out a hand to Spock.

 

“You ready to go?” he asked.

 

“Yes.” Spock could not find any other words and his breath hitched as his hand slid into Jim’s. He felt his skin heat and tingle beneath Jim’s touch, and once he was standing he gently extracted his hand and walked down the hallway.

 

Their transport was already waiting and they were both quiet until they reached the venue where the event was being hosted.

 

Spock stayed close to Jim’s side, and was aware of every lingering glance that fell upon his handsome human companion. Jim gave no sign that he noticed the attention and seemed content to be near Spock, though he politely chatted with anyone who approached him.

 

When they sat down to eat Spock found that they were boxed in by a Tellarite on one side and an Andorian woman on the other. The Tellarite glared at Spock and then growled something about the ‘slop Vulcans consider to be food’ and then turned to the alien on his other side to complain about the seating arrangements.

 

The Andorian was much more friendly, apparently.

 

“You may call me Shani,” the woman was saying to Jim when Spock turned back around. Spock did not fail to notice the way she leaned into him as she spoke.

 

“I’m Jim. Pleased to meet you.”

 

“The pleasure is mine.” She did not smile, but after looking Jim up and down her eyes gleamed with frank approval.

 

Shani monopolized Jim’s attention during dinner, and every time Jim tried to draw Spock into their conversation Shani cut him off by asking personal questions about Jim.

 

“Where were you born?” Shani asked. “Terrans are notoriously diverse, and their cultures vary greatly from region to region, do they not?”

 

Spock felt a moment of anxiety on Jim’s behalf, but Jim just smiled and answered, “I was born on Cyrillus IV, actually, so I wouldn’t know.”

 

Shani hadn’t heard of the planet, but fortunately did not question him further on the topic, and Jim was not forced to speak of the Khrelans who were responsible for his existence.

 

Spock was relieved when dinner concluded, and he eagerly escorted Jim from the table, leaving behind a very disappointed Andorian. He walked with Jim to the garden, where musicians were playing and people were chatting in groups or dancing. Spock was surprised to see more than one Vulcan on the dance floor, and knew that they were most likely participating solely for the sake of diplomacy, their faces absolutely blank as they shielded themselves against the thoughts of those around them.

 

Spock was about to ask Jim to dance with him when a tall Caitian lady with a thick reddish-brown mane approached, her eyes locked on the human.

 

“Would you like to dance with me?” She purred at Jim.

 

Jim looked at Spock, and then back to the lady before replying, “Yes, I would love to.”

 

She looked very pleased, and they strolled away together, arm in arm. Jim looked over his shoulder at Spock and gave a little shrug, and then twirled the Catian woman onto the dance floor. Spock sat down on one of the many benches in the garden and watched Jim, enjoying the flowing music and twinkling lights that had been wrapped around cacti and strung between the stunted desert trees.

 

He knew that it would be more appropriate for him to go socialize with the guests, but for the moment he was content to remain where he was.

 

When the song ended Jim stepped away from his partner, giving her a polite bow and a winning smile, and turned to leave. He nearly ran into a tall, handsome young man with auburn hair and deep green robes of a style Spock had not seen before. He was humanoid, but not human, and Spock was curious as to where he had come from.

 

Spock felt a wave of something dark overcome him for a moment when the man held out a slender hand and Jim took it, appearing flustered. Spock watched them dance, and his heart began to beat too fast.

 

He thought about getting up and going to find Sarek, whom he had seen earlier among a group of Veeiri. They were a species who had joined the Federation shortly before Vulcan’s destruction, and had been very generous in their support of the new colony, and Spock was eager to learn more about them. He had just made up his mind to stand when a Veeiri woman approached him and gestured to the bench.

 

“May I?” She asked, her voice low and vibrating.

 

“Yes, of course,” Spock said, settling back into a comfortable position. It would be rude to stand up now that the lady had come to sit next to him. She was quiet for nearly two minutes, nodding her hairless head along with the music, and Spock was just beginning to think that perhaps she did not desire his company after all when she suddenly spoke.

 

“You care for him, the golden man who dancing,” she said, turning her milky white eyes on him. The Veeiri were nearly blind—at least blind as far as sighted species understood it—though they had no trouble getting around.

 

“Yes, I do. He is my friend,” Spock said, staring curiously at the woman.

 

“My name is Araime.”

 

“I am Spock. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

 

Spock found himself feeling slightly unnerved when she turned her white eyes on him, her nearly translucent skin making her appear very delicate.

 

“I find myself fascinated by him. Human, is he not?” She quickly answered her own question, “Yes, human. But he is most unusual.”

 

“How so?” Spock asked.

 

“You are aware that as a Veeiri, I do not see the person, but what is inside the person?” Spock nodded and she went on, “Humans call it spirit, or soul, and Vulcans refer to it as katra. These things are different, and the same. I cannot accurately describe to you what I perceive. It is as much a feeling as anything else, though you might describe it as light and color.”

 

Spock nodded again to show that he understood her meaning, even if he could not comprehend what it meant to experience sight in that way.

 

She turned her head toward the dance floor, and Jim. “I have encountered many humans now, young and old, but I have not encountered one like him. He is an adult, but his… aura, if you will, is that of a child. It is growing and changing by the second, from dark to light, as though flaring up from nothing.”

 

Spock was speechless. Jim and the handsome gentleman were still dancing, and Jim no longer seemed flustered. In fact, he was glowing with delight and talking excitedly to the man.

 

“How is it possible that he is both so young and so old?” Araime asked.

 

“He… his aging was accelerated. He is not yet a year old.” Spock’s voice sounded choked, and he cleared his throat. Saying it out loud made him realize just how terribly young and vulnerable the human was.

 

“Ah,” Araime breathed out. “What an intriguing being.”

 

“Yes, he is.”

 

Spock thought back on the mind meld, and the small flickering light he had seen inside Jim. The exquisite little flame had not been in any way objectionable, it had just not been what Spock was expecting. He had been anticipating an incredible brilliance such as his own Jim had possessed. But maybe this Jim only needed time to become himself. Maybe he had done Jim a great disservice by making a premature judgement about the human’s nature.

 

The dance ended and Spock was shaken from his thoughts by the sight of Jim and his dance partner walking toward the refreshments table.

 

“Araime, if you will excuse me,” Spock said, standing up to go.

 

“Of course. I enjoyed speaking with you,” she said, her features placid.

 

Jim was laughing when Spock came to stand beside him. The man he had been dancing with turned his eyes on Spock, the orange irises large and eerily bright.

 

“Oh! Hey!” Jim said, looking from Spock to the tall man. “This is Spock, the one I was telling you about.”

 

The man dipped in a stiff bow and smiled. “Greetings, Spock, I am Thaynelaleth Unzontheltz, of Rago Seliethlen.”

 

Jim laughed and clapped the man’s shoulder and then looked at Spock. “You can call him Thayne.”

 

“Very well, Thayne. I welcome you to New Vulcan,” Spock said, as pleasantly as he could manage given the way Thayne was currently pressing himself against Jim’s side.

 

Jim began to shift nervously, and turned to Spock. “Thayne’s ship is powered by artificial quantum singularities, and he was just mentioning that he’d like to give me a tour of the engine room. I figured we could go right now, since I’d only be missing the auction thing, and it’s not like I’d be bidding on anything. Do you mind?”

 

Spock found that he minded very much, but could hardly say so. “Of course, enjoy yourself.”

 

Thayne smiled and snaked a hand around Jim’s waist. _Tour of the engine room, indeed_. They were stepping away from Spock now, Thayne’s hand still on Jim, and Spock felt the urge to stop them, to call Jim back and take him home. He could not do it, though. Jim was not beholden to him.

 

That did not stop Spock from catching Thayne’s eye and projecting all of the menace and possessive rage in his Vulcan soul at him. He was immensely pleased when Thayne’s steps faltered and he quickly turned to give Jim an almost wary look, as though wondering what he was getting himself into.

 

And then they were gone.

 

Spock stayed for the remainder of the event, and then went home alone.

 

*

 

Spock did not even attempt to sleep. He sat on his bed, in the dark, and tried to make sense of everything he had realized that night.

 

This Jim was so much more than Spock had given him credit for. His newborn soul needed nurturing and his human heart needed love, and Spock knew that it would not be someone like Thayne who would give him that. He did not trust Thayne, did not trust anyone else give Jim what he needed.

 

Spock wanted to wrap Jim up in his arms and protect him. Spock wanted to touch his mind again and taste light and laughter instead of sorrow. Spock wanted… wanted Jim.

 

It was a painful realization and his mind rebelled against it by pulling up thoughts of his own Jim. The pain came with it, and Spock felt shame for thinking that he might deserve that, to experience happiness again, to find joy in another.

 

He had been alone for so long that he had become accustomed to the pain of it and no longer felt anything. Until this Jim came along, that is. Jim gave him a taste of something he had once had, and his companionship had ruined Spock for solitude.

 

When Jim came home, three hours before sunrise, Spock told himself that he would not disturb him. It was not long, though, before he found a reason to get up, and on his way to the kitchen he paused near Jim’s door. He heard a choked sound, like a sob, and nothing could have kept him from acting at that point. He went into Jim’s room without knocking and found him sitting on the floor, his head on his knees and his shoulders shaking.

 

"Jim! Are you all right?" Spock asked. He crouched down next to Jim, ignoring the ache of his joints. “Did he hurt you? Did Thayne do something to you?”

 

Jim jumped a little, but then pulled Spock down to sit next to him and leaned into him, nuzzling into his shoulder. Spock smelled Thayne’s scent on him, smelled sex, and tightened an arm possessively around Jim.

 

"I'm fine. He didn't hurt me." Jim sniffed, and wiped at his face with his sleeve. "I just... It's not like I remembered. I mean—the memories are faded, but they’re still there. Spock and I...”

 

There was a long silence as Spock processed that he would not need to hunt down Thayne and that something else was causing Jim pain. He was about to question Jim, but Jim began to explain his thoughts and Spock listened.

 

"I just—I still have memories, but they don’t feel real anymore. I remember the taste of Bloodwine, but I've never actually had any, have I?” For a moment Spock was tempted to say that he was not missing anything, but Jim’s voice was pained and faraway, so he simply listened quietly as Jim continued.  “I remember what the sunsets on Risa look like, but I've never actually been there. And I remember what it felt like to—to have _him_ inside me, but I've never actually been with him. He never made love to me. Not really."

 

"Jim. Do not do this to yourself."

 

"Back on the _Enterprise_ , Spock wouldn't touch me." Jim’s voice was becoming ragged. “God, the way he looked at me...”

 

Spock held Jim tighter, a sense of foreboding coming over him and making him feel as though a steel band was tightening around his chest.

 

“And Thayne… I guess technically he was my first. Shit... I'm so confused. What am I doing?” Jim laughed bitterly, the hand that had been wrapped in Spock’s robe releasing and dropping away.

 

“Jim,” Spock said, his fear building.

 

“I can’t stay here. I’m sorry.”

 

Spock’s heart stuttered and he felt as though he was falling. “What do you mean? You do not wish to stay with me?” His words sounded child-like and foolish to his own ears, but he was at a loss, still falling.

 

“No—I mean—I can’t stay on New Vulcan.” Jim sat up now, breaking out of Spock’s embrace and looking him in the eye.

 

“Where will you go?” Spock asked.

 

“I don’t know. Just...” Jim looked down and shook his head, “away.”

 

“I do not want you to go.” It was difficult to state this painful truth, but Spock had to. He needed Jim to know.

 

“I know. I’m sorry. I just need some time to figure out who I am and what the hell I’m supposed to be doing, because, right now, I don’t know.”

 

Spock was on his feet before he knew it, body aching and swaying as he went for the door. He did not wish to make Jim feel guilty, but he could not look at him and remain objective. Not with his thoughts in such disarray. He had just reached the door when Jim’s voice stopped him. He did not turn around, but he listened, leaning heavily on the door frame.

 

“I really am sorry, Spock. And I want you to know that I appreciate everything, and that I...” There was a pause, and Spock heard Jim swallow hard. “I love you.”

 

Reeling, Spock went out through the back door and walked toward the open desert, seeking peace, seeking solitude.

  
  
  



	11. Chapter 11

Jim’s departure was far too abrupt. It was coincidence that while in New Shikahr making travel arrangements Jim caught the eye of the crewmember from a towing vessel that was currently in orbit around the planet. Jim had stopped at a dining establishment and was waiting on his meal when the man found him. The two began to talk, the other man curious about the golden-haired, blue-eyed human in a room full of restrained Vulcans.

 

If Spock believed in such things, he would have thought the universe was conspiring to take Jim away from him, so easily did everything fall into place.

 

Jim came home excited, packed light, and soon after was on his way out into the black. Jim had called Selva and made the same promises he had given Spock. Spock had repressed his hurt over Jim’s departure enough to reassure Jim that all was well, but he was still aching inside.

 

“I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone, but I will be back. I just need to spend some time on my own.” Jim’s face went from serious to playful in the space of a heartbeat. “Keep a place set at the table for me.”

 

This was said from the front door, because Spock could not bring himself to go see Jim off. Jim seemed to understand the things Spock could not say, and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek before picking up his bag.

 

Then he was gone.

 

There were signs of him everywhere. Random parts from electronic devices set on shelves or fallen under furniture, smudged fingerprints on glass, a shirt wedged between the couch cushions because Jim had become overheated and stripped it off. Jim’s smell lingered on sheets, and one of his books was on the desk, still opened to the page Jim had been reading before the gala dinner.

 

Not long after Jim left, Spock purposefully moved through his house, cleaning away all signs of him. He scrubbed and organized, and picked up every last reminder, stashing it all away. He closed up Jim’s room and rearranged the pantry so that it was as it had been before Jim came along and reorganized his life.

 

Only once all of this was done did he rest. He burned incense and meditated. Once his thoughts were neatly ordered he sat in his chair, reading from a PADD as though he hadn’t recently regained and then lost another Jim.

 

This Jim might come back, after all. But he would not think about that. 

 

*

 

It was Murek’s idea.

 

It was likely that Jim had talked to him before he left and expressed some concern either over Spock, or over Selva, or more likely both. The timing was certainly suspicious.

 

Jim had been gone for three days when Murek contacted him.

 

“Spock. I take it you are well,” Murek said, staring cheerfully—for a Vulcan—at Spock.

 

Spock had been at his desk grading papers when the call came in and had been relieved at the interruption.

 

“I am. And you, Murek?”

 

“I  can not complain,” Murek said. He then shook his head, his countenance growing thoughtful. “I do have concerns, however, about the well-being of one of the children.”

 

“Really. And which child might that be?” Spock asked, already knowing the answer. He had mixed feelings about what he knew was coming next.

 

It was obvious that Murek could read Spock’s expression, but that did not stop him from addressing his concerns, and therefore, dragging the conversation out.

 

“My concern is for Selva. He does not seem to thrive in the Youth Center as most of the other children do.”

 

“No?” Spock’s tone was shamelessly wry.

 

“No, he does not.”

 

There was a pause, during which Murek seemed content to let Spock stew. Spock, tired beyond words, felt the last of his energy drain out of him. “That is unfortunate.”

 

Murek must have sensed it, because he quickly came to the point. “Have you considered adopting him? He is very fond of you.” When Spock did not speak immediately Murek added “You are a mature and responsible adult, and I believe Selva would benefit from your guidance.”

 

Spock noticed that Murek had not mentioned that Selva was fond of Jim as well, and this confirmed that he was aware of the fact that Jim had gone.

 

“I require time—” Spock nearly sighed, and his limbs seemed to grow heavy. “I must meditate on the matter, and I will get back to you as soon as possible.”

 

“Very well. I thank you for your time. Good evening, Spock.”

 

“Good evening, Murek. I will contact you soon.”

 

And that was how Spock became a father.

 

*

 

Selva had been living with him for four months when the boy realized that Jim would not be returning to them any time in the near future.

 

Selva had reluctantly taken Jim’s room, although he continued to insist that Jim would need it when he came back. He dusted the shelves and handled Jim’s books with loving care, and he seemed completely confident that he, Spock, and Jim would soon be a family.

 

They received frequent messages from Jim—who had been thrilled upon learning that Spock had adopted Selva—but soon the messages began to come less and less often.

 

When a whole month passed without  word from Jim, Selva became worried. Jim had found a job on a starbase and had been sending Selva messages at least twice a week about his experiences there.

 

Then there was nothing.

 

When a message did finally come, it was a short and garbled missive, and all they could glean from it was that Jim was travelling on a cargo ship of some kind.

 

He did not seem unhappy.

 

Selva had stepped away from the computer terminal with a haunted look in his eyes and excused himself from the room.

 

Later that day Spock was in his own room when he heard Selva’s distraught voice in the hall. He opened his door and peeked out to see Selva kneeling on the floor next to Bucky.

 

“Bucky, locate Jim,” Selva commanded the robot.

 

Bucky whirled in a circle and made for Selva’s room, bumped into the door, then turned and went into the living room before clattering back into the hall. The robot bumped itself against the wall repeatedly.

 

“Bucky, find Jim!” Selva said, his voice becoming more urgent.

 

Alarmed, Spock stepped into the hall. “Selva?”

 

Selva ignored him, giving the robot a vicious kick. “This robot is defective! I hate it!”

 

He kicked it again, harder, letting out a little sob. Heart breaking, Spock crouched down and caught Selva in his arms, pulling him into a tight embrace. By Vulcan standards Selva was considered too old for such a display of affection, but Spock did not care. It was what Jim would have done, and it was what Selva needed.

 

It was then that he realized he thought of Selva not just as an adopted child, but as his son. And, by the anger he felt toward Jim at that moment, he knew that he was emotionally invested in the child. His happiness was now forever tied with Selva’s well-being. If Selva was unhappy, then so was he. If Selva hurt, that pain became his own.

 

Spock was almost relieved when they continued to receive no messages from Jim. It allowed Selva to put Jim out of his thoughts while he adjusted his expectations and settled into to his new life.

 

By the time the package came Spock and Selva were set in their routine, and Selva felt secure enough in his situation that the package’s arrival caused no more than a surprised raise of his eyebrows. It had been six months since Jim’s last message.

 

“Shall we open it?” Selva asked, pursing his lips and widening his eyes in what Spock had come to learn was his way of expressing delight.

 

“Indeed, we shall.”

 

They shared a curious glance as Spock cut through the adhesive holding the lid of the hard plastic container closed, and as Spock pulled the lid open they both leaned forward.

 

Selva looked into the box, mouth agape. It took a moment for Spock to fully process what he was looking at, and then he marvelled at Jim’s ability to shock him at every turn. Spock reached into the padded box and lifted out a statuette he easily recognized as pre-reform Vulcan art. There were two heavy pendants carved from the black rock of Vulcan-that-had-been, as well as a paper book of early Vulcan poetry.

 

Spock carefully lifted out each item. Selva, seeing Spock’s reverent handling of the items, very gently stroked the statuette, then carefully opened the book to peer inside.

 

On the bottom of the box was a letter and a metal box. Spock lifted up the metal box and put it in his lap, and then unlatched it. Three ancient scrolls were nestled together inside; priceless Vulcan artifacts.

 

“May I see?” Selva asked. Spock nodded and Selva moved closer, examining the faded Vulcan script but not touching the fragile paper. When Selva sat back, looking very impressed with Jim’s gifts, Spock closed the lid and picked up the letter. He eagerly opened it.

 

Holding a handwritten letter, knowing that Jim had touched this paper, that the familiar scribble was done by his hand, filled Spock with dizzy sense of joy. The strength of the feeling surprised him.

 

With Selva peeking over his shoulder, he began to read the letter.

 

// _Dear Spock and Selva,_

_I won these items (mostly) fair and square in a “game of chance” with some rather unsavory characters, and I’m sending them back where they belong. I’ve been keeping an eye out for Vulcan artifacts, and I’ll ship back whatever I find. I’m sure you’ll get everything to the right place._

_I’d like Selva to keep the book of poetry, though, if that’s alright._

_I’m serving on the civilian freighter_ Ananke _, under a very colorful man who calls himself Maghnus. It’s an Antares-type ship, though it may or may not have been seriously modified with a more powerful warp drive and armaments (so don’t worry, I’m relatively safe). She’s no_ Enterprise _, but I like her. She’s a nice little ship._

_This has been really good for me and I’m learning a lot. We’re a pretty motley crew aboard the_ Ananke _, and I’ve made some good friends. I still talk to Bones sometimes, and he’s not happy that I left New Vulcan._

_I miss you guys. A lot. I’m not sure when we’ll be close enough to New Vulcan for me to visit. We’ve been keeping out pretty far, even pushing into uncharted territory. We ran into a spaceship full of very angry lizards near Cestus III about a month back, and that was a hairy situation. But we got away with minimal damage. I’m making you worry, aren’t ? Okay, I’ll stop._

_Just know that I think of you, both of you, every single day, and I can’t wait to see you again._

_Yours Always_

_James T. Watson-Kirk_ //

 

When they both had read the letter several times, Spock folded it back up and put it in the top desk drawer, along with the book of poetry. He stood still for a few long moments, lost in thought, until Selva tugged on his sleeve, bringing his attention back to the present.

 

“Spock, will you take me into the city today to try the new restaurant that opened by the art gallery?”

 

Selva looked up at Spock, his brown eyes large and so perceptive, and Spock’s heart swelled with happiness. Spock lived with so many ghosts, but Selva was real. Selva was his anchor in the churning sea of memory.

 

Spock smiled with his eyes. “As you wish, young one.”

 

*

 

Jim had been gone for over a year.

 

“Spock?”

 

“Yes, Selva?”

 

Selva was sitting on the couch with one of Jim’s books in his lap, and a PADD boasting a recently completed school assignment next to him. Selva closed the book, keeping a finger between the pages to hold his spot. He waited until Spock turned away from the computer terminal on his desk before speaking again.

 

“May I call you _sa-mekh_?”

 

It pained Spock to hear Selva sound so unsure, but his heart warmed at the question. Spock swiveled the chair so that he was facing Selva, not bothering to hide his joy.

 

“I would be honored.”

 

He wanted to say more, to tell Selva that his very presence was a balm to his battered soul, that Selva healed his deeply wounded heart and filled his life with purpose. He wanted to tell Selva that now that he had him in his life, he could not imagine his life without him. He wanted to tell him that seeing Selva’s curious face and hearing his clever observations and thoughtful questions filled Spock with pride.

 

Spock found himself becoming choked up, and Selva, seeing his struggle, nodded his head and began reading the book again to give Spock time to recover.

 

“I am glad.” Spock heard him say.

 

*

 

Jim had been gone for one year and eight months.

 

// _Dear Spock,_

_We passed by earth a week ago, but we picked up some cargo and had to head right back out for the Vega system._

_I was disappointed that we didn’t get to spend more time there._

_Technically, it was my first time._

_I don’t remember a lot about it._

_How’s Selva? Still excelling at everything he does? I miss that kid._

_A month ago we stumbled upon the strangest damn planet. Can you imagine being in a place where your every wish becomes reality? Or, at least something closely resembling reality._

_We found Zahena in a tropical garden, being fed pieces of fruit and fanned by men. Maghnus thought it was hilarious, but then an actual ocean appeared and, I shit you not, he took off on an old earth-style pirate ship. He said he’d always dreamed of being a pirate when he was a boy._

_You’ll never guess who I dreamed up._

_I don’t know… I was glad to get back on the ship and get the hell out of there, to be honest._

_I guess the things we want and the things we need are not always the same thing, right?_

_Miss you._

_-Jim_ //

 

*

 

Jim had been gone for two years.

 

_// Hey Spock,_

_First off, I don’t want you to worry._

_And, okay, I wont lie, I’m only sending this because I suspect you’ll hear about it anyway and then you’d be angry because I didn’t mention it._

_There was a little incident near the Klingon border. I’M FINE. I got a little banged up but the Doctor says what few scars are left should fade over time. I mean it, I’m fine!_

_We were headed to Regulus from Gamma Orionis (don’t ask what we were doing there because I’m not at liberty to say) and we ran into some trouble going through the Donatu System. Luckily a Federation vessel was close and picked up our distress call._

_Let me tell you, after that little adventure I’m going to be making some modifications to the_ Ananke _that aren’t exactly aboveboard, if you know what I mean. Don’t tell._

_I know, it’s dangerous out here, but we’re being careful, I promise, and if everything goes according to plan we might be swinging by New Vulcan soon. I can’t wait to see you guys. I bet Selva is growing like a weed._

_Anyway, I’ll send you a message again as soon as I get a chance, but we might be pretty busy for the next month or so._

_See you soon!_

_-Jim_ //

 

Spock shut down the computer terminal, stood up on shaking legs, and walked out into the garden. When Selva came home from his music lessons he found Spock meditating and sat down next to him, just close enough that Spock could sense the soothing warmth of his thoughts.

 

Selva waited quietly and when Spock came back to himself they went in the house together.

 

“May I prepare dinner tonight, _sa-mekh_?” Selva asked.

 

“If it pleases you,” Spock said, knowing that Selva had no interest in cooking, but wanted Spock to rest. “Thank you, _sa-fu_.”

 

Selva heated pre-packaged meals and proudly served dinner, and Spock did not mention Jim’s message.

 

*

 

Jim had been gone for two years and three months.

 

// _Spock, I’ve seen things._

_i don’t understand._

_I miss you so much.._ //

 

*

 

Jim had been gone for two years and eleven months when Spock received a call from Sarek.

 

Someone was asking to meet with him at his home, claiming to have been sent by Jim. Spock had not received any more messages from him and was glad that he had not told Selva about Jim’s plan to visit since it had not come to fruition.

 

T’Madh came in the evening, a middle aged Vulcan lady with light brown eyes and a streak of white running through the braid wound around her head. Spock’s eyes were quickly drawn to the package she was carrying under her arm. Once he had offered her refreshments and gestured for her to take a seat in his chair she held out the package to Spock.

 

“James asked me to give this to you,” she said.

 

Spock took the package and set it on his desk, and then took a seat on the couch. T’Madh sat down in the chair, casting a curious glance at Selva, who was peeking around the corner. Though she was by no means old, her movements were slow and heavy as though a great weight was pressing on her.

 

Seeing her glance at Selva again, Spock said “This is my son, Selva.”

 

She nodded at Selva. “Greetings, Selva. My name is T’Madh. James speaks well of you.”

 

Selva held his head a little higher and came further into the room, finally settling at Spock’s side on the couch.

 

“Thank you for receiving me in your home,” T’Madh said, looking from Selva to Spock.

 

“You are welcome here. I am grateful you delivered this package to us,” Spock said. He could have made more polite conversation but he could not resist inquiring about Jim. “You have been with James recently. How is he?”

 

“He is well. He is now the first officer aboard the _Ananke_.”

 

“I was not aware. I have not received a communication from him in eight months.”

 

“He has been busy, apparently,” T’Madh said.

 

“Apparently?” Spock asked.

 

“I was not acquainted with him for very long, though long enough for him to leave a strong impression.”

 

Spock could feel himself becoming breathless with anticipation. He had been worried about Jim through all the months of silence.

 

Spock evened out his breathing and then said, “I take it you have a story to tell about our Jim.”

 

“I do.”

 

“But Jim is well, is he not?” Selva sounded worried, but quickly composed himself and sat back, looking as though he was only mildly interested in the conversation. His control was impressive for such a young one, despite his occasional emotional outburst.

 

“When I last saw him he appeared to be in very good health,” T’Madh assured Selva. Then, looking at Spock, she said, “He is a brave and selfless individual.”

 

Two sets of eyebrows raised.

 

“The same can be said of the rest of the crew of the Ananke, of course. I was aboard a science vessel when it was attacked by Orion slave traders. I was taken, as well as two others, both Vulcan.”

 

“I have heard of incidents such as this occurring recently,” Spock said, shaking his head.

 

“Yes, Vulcans are considered a rarity now, and I am sure they hoped to fetch a high price for us.” T’Madh stilled and seemed to be drawing upon some inner strength before continuing. “We were… we were not treated kindly.”

 

Spock wanted to offer some comfort, but he knew there was nothing he could say.

 

“We did not expect help to come. There were two other Vulcans and a Terran being held in the cell they put us in. They came aboard, James and two of his crewmates, by disguising themselves and pretending that they wished to do business with the slavers. They managed to sabotage the ship and transported out with us and the other prisoners.”

 

“That sounds like Jim,” Spock said to himself.

 

“When I asked him if he planned to return to New Vulcan, I received the impression that he wished to, but could not,” T’Madh said. Spock looked up and held her eyes as she continued, “It is not my place to intrude on personal matters, but... I hope that James finds the peace he seeks, and that it leads him safely back here. I believe he misses you very much.”

 

Hope, as Spock had told Selva on several occasions, was illogical. Still that did not stop Spock from replying, “That is my hope, as well.”

 

Selva listened intently as T’Madh spoke of her brief time aboard the _Ananke_. When Spock asked of her future plans she made it clear that she meant to remain on New Vulcan, and Spock had the sense that her experience with the Orion slavers had heavily influenced her decision. He regretted that she had suffered so, and was grateful that Jim and the crew of the _Ananke_ had been able to save her from a horrible fate.

 

After T’Madh left, Spock opened the package to find more Vulcan artifacts and a handwritten letter. He wondered how many private collectors Jim had visited, and how he had been able to obtain what were now priceless relics from a once thriving race. He had a suspicion that Jim frequently put himself in more danger than was necessary. He made a mental note to chastise Jim for this in his next communication, though he knew it would not make a difference.

 

Once they had gone through the artifacts and carefully repacked them, Selva and Spock settled close together to read the letter.

 

// _Spock,_

_I miss you more than I can say. Sometimes I think I can hear you in the back of my mind, scolding me for being reckless, or soothing me when I’m lonely. Illogical, I know._

_I wanted to come home, and had fully intended to, but then things happened. I can’t give you a lot of details, but in our travels we’ve come by a lot of useful information, and that information can be put to good use in order to stop some bad people._

_Recently I worked with some mutual friends of ours._

_Bones says “hi,” or at least that’s the shortened version of what he said. Don’t let him fool you. He likes you._

_I think the other Spock was surprised when he saw me. Once he managed to get away from the other me (I’m not gonna say that the captain was jealous, but yeah, okay, he was) we spent some time together and talked. It felt weird. I still have memories of him from the other Jim, but they’re so faint, and almost all of the pain I once felt over losing him is gone._

_He said I seem so much older, more mature. I suppose that’s the accelerated aging thing._

_I think the other Jim was actually kind of intimidated by me. Apparently I have this kind of ‘space pirate’ vibe going. The whole thing was sort of surreal, but I’m glad I got to meet them again, because I’d hate for my last memories of us to be of them dumping me off at New Vulcan. I’ll be seeing them again soon, actually._

_I’ll tell you everything the next time I see you, though I have no idea when that will be._

_Not too long, I hope._

_Send me a new holo of Selva. I know he’s grown since the last one, and people have been asking. Yeah, I talk about you guys a lot. The whole crew probably feels like they know you by now. Maybe you’ll get to meet them when I finally come home._

_I don’t know what’s going to happen in the future, but I know that I love you guys and that I’m going to get safely home to you one day, whatever it takes._

_Take good care of yourselves._

_Faithfully Yours,_

_Jim_ //

 

“When do you think Jim will return home, _sa-mekh_?” Selva asked once they had read the letter and put it away.

 

“I do not know,” Spock said.

 

Spock was amazed that time and distance had not dimmed his affection for Jim, and that it had, in fact, only grown. He believed Jim when he said that he would return one day, and Spock was eager to discover what kind of man he was turning into.

 

He had the feeling that Jim was becoming an impressive individual.

  
  



	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a pon farr scene which, though not violent, may be disturbing to some.

Approximately seven weeks before Selva’s eleventh birthday Spock was contacted by Sarek. They greeted each other, and though Sarek’s demeanor was casual, it was apparent to Spock that he had something important to say.

 

It did not take Sarek long to reveal the reason for his call. “A Starfleet vessel visited New Vulcan two days ago. The ship was carrying one hundred and seventy three people rescued from slavers.”

 

“Indeed?”

 

“Yes. One hundred and twenty eight of them were Vulcan. It was necessary for much information to be gathered before they could be located, and the slave traders responsible brought to justice.”

 

Spock nodded, and Sarek watched him quietly for a few moments, his keen eyes no doubt noting the weight Spock had lost and the slump of his shoulders. Spock was aware that he had been somewhat withdrawn recently, and that Sarek was concerned about him.

 

Perhaps he hoped that news of the rescued Vulcans would improve Spock’s mood.

 

“It is fortunate…” Spock had meant to say more, but his thoughts suddenly scattered and he fell silent.

 

Sarek seemed to be waiting expectantly, but when Spock said nothing else he asked, “Have you received any updates from Jim recently?”

 

“He occasionally sends me messages, but they are often brief and vague.”

 

“I would imagine so,” Sarek said.

 

Spock frowned in confusion. “What is your meaning? Why should his messages be so unrevealing?”

 

The concern in Sarek’s eyes was unmistakable. “Spock, you were aware that the _Ananke_ took part in the effort to stop those responsible for the abductions, were you not? Once they became involved, Jim could not send you any information that could have been harmful to the mission if intercepted.”

 

Spock mentally shook himself. Of course, Jim had informed him that he and the crew of the _Ananke_ had been working with the _Enterprise_ at one point. It dawned on him that Sarek was telling him that Jim’s mission had been accomplished. And if that was true, then perhaps Jim would return to New Vulcan.

 

It occurred to Spock that his inability to quickly understand the situation was worrisome, but he was too pleased to give it much thought.

 

Jim might be coming home soon.

 

*

 

A week passed, then two.

 

Jim had been gone for… Spock could not remember how long, exactly.

 

Something stirred in the dark of Spock’s room, and a familiar and long-missed warmth pressed against Spock’s back. He began to feel as if he was floating.

 

“T’hy’la?” Spock whispered.

 

_I’m here, Spock._

 

Jim. That was Jim’s voice. _His_ Jim.

 

“Where are you?” Spock’s voice grew cautiously louder.

 

_With you, Spock. Where I’ve always been._

 

Spock tensed, squeezing his eyes more tightly shut as he felt a warm hand slide around to rub his chest. He felt himself being pulled onto his back, and hot breath ghosted over his face.

 

_Look at me. Spock, open your eyes and look at me._

 

“No. If I open my eyes you will be gone.”

 

_Spock._

 

“Jim, I need…”

 

“ _Sa-mekh_?”

 

The hand on his chest withdrew and his bed grew cold, empty.

 

“ _Sa-mekh_ , are you well?” Selva’s voice was uncertain, concerned.

 

With great effort, Spock opened his eyes. He was alone in his bed, and Selva was standing in the doorway.

 

“You were talking in your sleep. Did you have a disturbing dream?” Selva was taller now, leaner, but his eyes were as large and solemn as they had been when he was little.

 

Spock had explained to Selva about where he had come from, about the other universe, but how could he possibly make the child understand what Jim had been to him? How could he impress upon him what it had meant to lose him? No, he had not mentioned his Jim.

 

“Yes, I believe I did.” Spock sat up slowly, his joints cracking in protest.

 

“Shall I make us breakfast, _sa-mekh_?”

 

Spock noticed the rosy light just starting to filter in through his window and realized that it was time to rise and begin his day.

 

Spock nodded. “Yes, Selva.”

 

Spock had wanted to say more, to thank Selva for being as attentive as he always was on the rare occasions when Spock’s composure failed. His thoughts became muddled, though, and so he simply rose and went to his wardrobe. When he turned around Selva was gone, and he could hear the noises the boy made as he prepared their morning meal.

 

Spock pressed his hands to his face and willed his mind to still. He strove to slow his racing heart and to cool the fire Jim had started in him.

 

After a time, he was successful.

 

*

 

Spock’s controls slowly began to unravel over the coming days.

 

The severed bond ached and throbbed inside of him, and he saw his Jim in dreams now, felt him and heard his voice even upon waking.

 

One day Spock sat in the garden and breathed deeply as Jim soothingly stroked his arms. He kept his eyes closed against the sun and against the reality that was becoming more and more unbearable with each passing day.

 

_Breathe, Spock. Just breathe. I’m right here with you._

 

Another voice began to intrude on his consciousness. He flinched away from it.

 

“ _Ashayam_ , I need you.”

 

The intruder’s voice grew louder, beginning to drown out Jim’s voice when he spoke again.

 

_I know…  then you could…  all right?_

 

Spock felt himself twitch, felt the anger rise and flood like liquid flame through his veins.

 

_Spock. Can you hear me? SPO—_

 

“ _Sa-mekh_!”

 

“Leave me alone!” Spock snapped, his eyes flying open and his fists landing with such force on the surface of the bench that his skin split and began to bleed.

 

Selva jumped and took a step back. Spock could see his fear, could see him struggle with it and finally conquer it, moving a little closer but staying out of arm’s reach.

 

“ _Sa-mekh_ , please. You are sick.”

 

He felt Selva through the familial bond they shared and drew strength from the cool and calm of his mind.

 

Spock had been in denial, and it was putting Selva in danger. What if Selva had come too close and Spock had struck out at him, crushed him, broken him? He could not bear the thought of hurting him. He would rather crawl into the desert to die than harm the child he now thought of as his own son.

 

The familial bond would help him to recognize Selva as kin during the fever, but if Selva surprised Spock or got too close to him while was not entirely lucid Spock could lash out and cause him injury.

 

Since Spock had no bondmate to cool his fires, he would only become more dangerous as the condition progressed. His cycle had become somewhat irregular as he grew older, but he had been foolish not to make more thorough arrangements for this ahead of time. Pon farr was upon him.

 

“Will you please come inside? I contacted Murek and he is here now. He wishes to speak with you,” Selva said.

 

Spock was immensely grateful that Selva had thought to call Murek for help. The child had always been so perceptive. Selva politely averted his eyes as Spock, teeming with emotion,  stood and then made his way into the house.

 

Murek had evidently given Selva instructions because one of Selva’s travel cases was packed and sitting on the couch, as well as one of Spock’s own bags.

 

“Spock,” Murek said.

 

“Yes?” Spock’s voice was rough, strange to his own ears.

 

“Are you ready to depart?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Come.”

 

Murek picked up the bags and walked out, and Spock followed him, knowing Selva was right behind him. He felt steady, anchored between them, held still by their calmness, their patience.

 

Spock felt an odd kind of relief.

 

Difficult times were ahead, but everything was being taken out of his hands.

 

*

 

Once he had said his farewell to Selva and completed the admittance procedure, a nurse led Spock to one of the hospital’s private inpatient rooms.

 

The bed was wider than a typical biobed and the room was painted in richer colors than the rest of the hospital, desert hues that calmed Spock’s burning mind. A desk was pushed in one corner—which he knew he would not be able to use—and there was a meditation mat under the window. That was where he would most likely spend most of his time until the fires of pon farr completely burned away all rational thought.

 

Spock opened the bag Murek had packed for him. Inside he found comfortable robes, slippers, personal hygiene items, and a PADD. Once he had unpacked and put everything away, he went to the mat and dropped down into a meditative pose.

 

He stayed there for some time, though he could not have said how long, until he heard footsteps approaching and then someone calling his name.

 

Spock opened his eyes and glared at the intruder, clenching his fists. Then the fog in his mind cleared a little, and he realized he was looking up at a doctor. The doctor did not acknowledge his behavior, instead swiping at the screen of the PADD in his hand before fixing his eyes on Spock.

 

“Spock, I am Doctor Ivek. Are you coherent?”

 

Spock nodded, carefully controlling his breathing. He did not like the scent of this man, did not want to be near him.

 

“Very good. I see here that you have a preference for males. If there are no males available will a female be acceptable?” he asked in an almost detached voice.

 

Spock did not want a female. He did not want just any male. He wanted his Jim. Needed him. His blood was starting to burn and he ached to be in the arms of his t’hy’la.

 

The doctor was watching him, and though he was not sure at this point what was he was agreeing to, Spock nodded his head.

 

The doctor seemed satisfied with this and made a notation on the PADD. He then gestured to the two nurses who had been standing behind him, unnoticed by Spock. They urged Spock to lie on the bed, so he did, and they began to run scans. One nurse placed a patch on his arm, telling him the medicine would calm him, and the other placed a larger patch on his side and then tapped at the panel above the bed to bring it to life.

 

The room was filled with the soft beeping of the biofunction monitor as his vitals gently fluctuated. For a time the sound distracted him, playing out the faltering rhythm of his body like a melancholy tune. Spock became just clear-headed enough to understand that the medicine must be working, and then he slipped into a fitful sleep.

 

*

 

_Spock._

 

Spock rolled over in the stiff hospital bed but did not open his eyes.

 

“Yes, Jim.”

 

_I love you._

 

“And I you.”

 

Spock knew that time was passing, but could not count the minutes, could not focus on anything but the burning need in him to join with his long-dead bondmate.

 

Dead. No. That was not right. Jim could not be dead.

 

Spock needed Jim, and Jim had promised never to leave him.

 

He could not be gone.

 

The fire burned higher and Spock felt fear as he slid further down toward madness. Spock tossed his head and kicked at the blankets tangled around his legs.

 

“Jim!”

 

_I’m here._

 

“Hold me, please!” Spock gasped out. “T’hy’la, I burn…”

 

_I’ve got you. Just hang on, my love._

 

Jim’s arms came around him—so hot, so strong—and held him still.

 

He could smell him, smell his Jim, and he burned hotter.

 

No, Jim was not dead.

 

That was unthinkable.

 

Spock slept.

 

*

 

He woke with a roar.

 

There was a crash as he lashed out, and the beeping sound above him became loud and almost painfully shrill. Others came, and he was surrounded. They grabbed his arms, his legs, and held him down. He needed Jim. Where was Jim? Why were they keeping Jim from him? Spock screamed and thrashed, and felt a set of hands release him only to be immediately replaced by another.

 

“Jim!”

 

He must find his mate. They must not be separated! Did they not understand, the people restraining him? Did they not know they were keeping him from his t’hy’la? He burned!

 

He tried to send his pain into them, into the hands holding him down, but they were heavily shielded and he could not get through. Why did they do this? Why did they hurt him so?

 

Then the hands were gone, but still he could not move. He was trapped, strapped down to the bed. He pulled at the restraints, growling and roaring out his pain, his need, and the the bones in his wrists began to strain almost to breaking.

 

Then there was a hiss at his neck, and he felt his muscles weaken.

 

“Jim…”

 

The fire still raged, seeming to sear off his very skin, burning him to his core, but he could not move. He felt his thoughts grow thick and slow until they finally stopped altogether.

 

Darkness.

 

Sleep.

 

*

 

Blood fever.

 

He felt the light touch of another mind against his, impersonal, aloof, and when that mind slid away a faint link remained.

 

Not Jim.

 

Too soft, too cold. Female.

 

No brilliant light to dazzle his eyes and lift him to the soaring heights of ecstasy. As she moved over him he felt heat, but it was not hot enough. It was not Jim.

 

Through the touch he felt her disinterest. The closed off, analytical mind brushed his, and the too-cool body slowly doused the flames, moving over him with quick, precise movements when his need called. He would not look at her.

 

Sterile touch. Not Jim. Spock heard himself weeping, as though from very far away. Through the thin but stable link he felt the distaste in her mind.

 

Not Jim.

 

She was leaving him. Leaving him to burn alive, to die strapped to a strange bed without his t’hy’la. He screamed. Someone came into the room. A hiss at his neck.

 

He slept.

 

He woke, still burning. She was there again. A cool presence above him, surrounding him.

 

The fire dimmed a little. He slept. He woke. He found his voice again.

 

“Jim!”

 

_Spock._

 

“Jim, please! I burn!”

 

And then she was there again, satisfying his need. He would not open his eyes, did not want to see her instead of his Jim.

 

“T’hy’la...”

 

A flash of pity flowed through the link. It stung. Spock pushed it away, trying to focus his energy, trying to reach the end of this.

 

Spock was alone again. He sobbed, a rough, pitiful sound.

 

Then Jim was there, stroking his face. He began to drift toward sleep with Jim whispering in his ear.

 

_You think a little thing like death is enough to keep us apart?_

 

“No, Jim…”

 

Jim held him.

 

Some time later, Spock woke, tired, aching.

 

He struggled to remain conscious, and finally, his eyelids fluttered open.

 

Jim. Jim was looking down at him, hazel eyes glinting with mischief and full lips pulled into an adoring smile. He felt Jim’s hand tangle in his hair and sighed deeply.

 

“Spock, please, do something for me,” Jim said, his expression growing more serious.

 

“Anything, t’hy’la.”

 

“Please, try to be happy.”

 

Spock could not hold back one final, gut-wrenching sob before slipping into unconsciousness again.

 

*

 

Spock leaned his head back into the pillows and took a deep breath. Although his thoughts were still not perfectly ordered, Spock was able to think clearly, and had been able to successfully meditate that morning for nearly two hours. One hour and fifty six minutes, Spock told himself with some satisfaction.

 

Spock was being given fluids and small but frequent meals, and as long as his vitals remained stable he would be able to return home the next day.

 

When he started to recall the events of his pon farr he felt a kind of numbness come over him, no doubt a defense mechanism to enable him to process the harrowing experience. He was grateful to be alive, even if the means of his continued survival had not been pleasant.

 

He did not dwell on the vision that had come to him, or on the words that had been said to him. It still hurt too much.

 

He was eager to go home and return to his routine, and especially pleased at the prospect of seeing Selva after their separation. Though they had not actually been apart for long, Spock had been through so much during that time that it seemed far longer. Illogical, Spock chided himself.

 

A nurse came and moved the overbed table until it was close to Spock’s chest, and set his lunch tray down upon it. After the nurse left, Spock began to eat despite the fact that he was not hungry. He would not do anything to compromise his departure date.

 

He was nearly done eating when the same nurse returned, and Spock looked up, meaning to tell her that he was not yet finished.

 

“Are you willing to accept a visitor at this time?” the nurse asked.

 

“Yes,” Spock answered, somewhat excited about being able to see Selva before he returned home. He would have to thank Murek for bringing him.

 

The nurse turned and strode out, and a minute later his visitor walked in.

 

Jim.

 

Spock’s heart fluttered, and the monitor above his head beeped a little warning.

 

For a moment he thought it was the same vision that had come to him as his pon farr ended, but then he caught sight of the vibrantly blue eyes and Spock’s heartbeat evened out.

 

“Hey,” Jim said.

 

It was remarkable, the changes in him. He was much less like the man he had been cloned from, calmer, more sturdy, and older than he should have been. Spock remembered the accelerated aging, and calculated, based on Jim's appearance, that the rate had remained somewhat steady.

 

“Jim.” Spock was startled to find that his voice still sounded gravelly. “You came home.”

 

“I heard you calling me from halfway across the galaxy,” Jim said, letting the bag slung over his shoulder slip down to land on the floor with a heavy thud. He sat down in the chair next to the bed and took Spock’s hand in his own.

 

Spock remembered how he had cried out for Jim, for his Jim, and closed his eyes against the sudden swelling of emotion. He heard the rustle of movement and Jim’s hand was withdrawn.

 

“I mean, I know—of course it wasn’t me you were calling. I know that,” Jim hurried to explain, “but I heard you. I heard you, and I had to come make sure you’re all right.”

 

“I am… recovering,” Spock said, reaching out his hand. Jim stared, uncomprehending for a moment, and then took Spock’s hand in his again.

 

“I’m busting you out of here,” Jim said, after a few quiet minutes.

 

“Are you?” Spock raised an eyebrow.

 

“Yep. Tomorrow.” Jim smirked. “I’ve got a half-assed plan and a whole lot of moxie. Nothing will stand in our way.”

 

Spock realized that the rasping and rumbling sound coming from deep within him was a chuckle and cleared his throat before composing himself. Jim watched him, smiling fondly and radiating both excitement and worry.

 

“If you don’t mind the company, I thought we could play some chess. Or I could read to you. I picked up a lot of interesting books during my travels.”

 

Spock was tired and his mind was still somewhat unsteady, but he did not want Jim to go. He looked at Jim, who sat next to him smiling warmly as if he had never been gone, and felt himself slide into contentment.

 

If only Jim would stay.

 

“I fear I do not have sufficient focus for a game of chess, but I would appreciate it if you would read to me,” Spock said.

 

“Okay.”

 

Jim ducked down out of sight, and Spock heard him rummaging through the bag at his feet. He popped up a moment later with a book and opened it. Spock closed his eyes and sighed very softly as he relaxed into his bed. Even with his eyes closed, he could feel Jim’s smile, like warm sunlight against his skin.

 

“Okay, let’s see,” Jim said. Spock heard the rustle of paper pages, then Jim cleared his throat. “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”

 

Spock’s eyes flew open and a small sound escaped him.

 

Jim glanced up from the book, frowning. “Would you like me to read you something else? I just—I picked this one up recently and I really liked it.”

 

“No, please continue.” Spock closed his eyes again.

 

“Okay,” Jim said, sounding a little unsure. His voice was steady, however, when he continued. “It was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness,”

 

Spock smiled to himself, knowing Jim was too absorbed in the book to notice.

 

“It was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity,”

 

It had been such a long and winding road Spock had traveled in his life.

 

“It was the season of Light, It was the season of Darkness,”

 

At times he had been surrounded by love and comfort, and at other times he had felt bereft, alone.

 

“It was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair...”

 

It cheered Spock now to know that he was not alone, and that he never had been.

 

Spock slept, and he was happy.

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I would like to thank my tireless beta, [Druxykexy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/druxy_kexy), for her valuable insight and good plot advice!
> 
> And a big thank you to everyone who stayed with this story to the end!

Selva stared across the table at Spock and took a long sip of his tea. He had grown slender and tall, though his personality had not changed much in the nineteen years since he had come to live with Spock. Despite Jim’s influence, Selva had remained a somber, but quietly contented, individual.

 

“Valeia and T’Leng have bonded. They plan to enter Starfleet together,” Selva said, setting down his mug but keeping his long fingers wrapped around it.

 

“Indeed?” Spock allowed his eyes to widen fractionally with surprise. Theirs was certainly not a popular course of action, though for a time he had thought Selva might leave him for the stars.

 

He had entered the Science Academy instead.

 

Selva nodded and contemplated his tea in silence. His forehead creased and his fingers danced out a pattern on his mug before he caught himself and put his hands in his lap. Spock concealed his amusement and waited for Selva to speak.

 

“ _Sa-mekh_ ,” Selva started, finally looking up and meeting Spock’s eyes. “I seek your blessing. I wish to bond with Iria.”

 

Spock had been expecting this for some time, and was only surprised that it had taken so long. Iria was a pleasant Vulcan woman whose open and almost mischievous good nature balanced out Selva’s more serious personality.

 

“You have my blessing,” Spock said. Selva’s stiff posture relaxed. “You have made a fine choice. She is a good match for you.”

 

Selva looked pleased, and his eyes lit up in a way that made him appear to be a young boy again.

 

When Selva had moved out three months prior Spock had known that they would have this conversation soon. It had been logical for him to continue living with Spock and Jim when he was unattached, but if he wished to start a family he would need a home of his own.

 

“I have… an appointment and I must go soon, but I wished to get Jim’s blessing as well.” Selva looked slightly troubled. “Do you know when he will arrive home?”

 

“He will be at the shipyard until late, I think. But, if you will join us for an afternoon meal tomorrow you may speak to him then,” Spock said.

 

“That would be agreeable.”

 

“I am sure you are aware that Jim will gladly give you his blessing. He has been anticipating this announcement, and will be overjoyed.” Spock’s lips quirked.

 

“He anticipated—” Selva cut himself off, looking almost abashed. Clearly he had not realized how obvious he and Iria had been. “I see. Then I will take my leave of you now, and I will see you again tomorrow.”

 

As Selva rose and bid Spock farewell, his hand was already reaching into his pocket to retrieve his comm unit. Spock had politely ignored the chirping noise it had been giving off as their conversation drew to a close, knowing there was only one person who could have inspired Selva’s hasty departure.

 

Standing alone in the living room, Spock allowed himself a small chuckle.

 

As he walked past the desk, a framed picture caught his eye. He stopped and picked it up, gazing at it fondly. It had been taken approximately one week after Spock returned home from the hospital, still recovering from his recently ended pon farr.

 

Selva had grudgingly taken the picture at Jim’s insistence. Spock and Jim had been seated in the garden, Jim carefully avoiding crowding him and attempting to lighten the mood with anecdotes from his travels.

 

When Jim insisted on the picture, Spock had moved closer to him, putting an arm behind him, around his waist. Jim had immediately leaned into him with a sigh.

 

Selva had practically scowled at them, but he took the picture.

 

Spock smiled at the recollection, and for once did not make any effort to keep himself from plunging into memory.

 

* * *

 

When Jim accompanied Spock home from the hospital, Selva was not pleased.

 

“Why is he here?” Selva asked, standing very straight and tilting his chin up defiantly.

 

Jim had been approaching the boy with a smile on his face, but he stopped in his tracks at Selva’s question. Murek, who had been waiting with Selva, glanced between the two in surprise. Eager to give them privacy, he hurriedly took his leave.

 

“Selva,” Spock scolded, “it is not appropriate for you to speak to Jim in this manner.”

 

“Spock, it’s okay. He’s just—” Jim began.

 

“No. It is not ‘okay.’ Selva, you will  apologize,” Spock said. He knew that his controls were still in tatters, and he sought to compose himself.

 

“I am… _not_ sorry.” Selva’s voice rose, becoming more shrill than Spock had ever heard it.

 

Jim’s mouth fell open, and Spock found himself fuming despite his efforts to remain calm. He had not expected Selva to respond this way.

 

“Selva,” Jim said, reaching out a hand.

 

Selva jerked back. “No. Where were you when my _sa-mekh_ was sick? Why were you not here for him? For me?”

 

“I’m so sorry.”

 

“I do not believe you. If you were sorry for not being here then why did you not come back sooner?”

 

“Selva. Enough.” Spock’s voice came out gruff and firm, and silence fell. He briefly wondered if his own father had found him this difficult and emotional.

 

Selva turned on his heel and quickly walked to his room, closing the door behind him.

 

“Jim, I apologize,” Spock said, turning to lay a hand on Jim’s arm. He ignored the heat that began to flow into him. “Though he attempts to conceal it, he was very worried about my health and is still upset.”

 

“Should I go talk to him?” Jim asked, nervously shifting his weight from foot to foot.

 

“No. Give him time.”

 

A series of chirps and a soft whirring noise drew Jim’s attention. Jim looked down just as Bucky came around the corner and plowed into his legs. The robot’s recent modifications had left it larger and faster, and for a moment Jim struggled not to lose his balance and topple over.

 

“ _Jim located!_ ” the robot loudly announced in a computerized voice.

 

Spock thought he heard a very un-Vulcan curse come from Selva’s room, but chose not to acknowledge it.

 

“Bucky!” Jim exclaimed, dropping down to examine the robot. “Wow, Selva’s given you some upgrades, hasn’t he? I’m impressed.” He patted the robot appreciatively and laughed when it spun in a circle and then fled back down the hallway.

 

“It’s good to be back,” Jim said, standing up and turning to Spock. “Are you okay? You look a little pale.”

 

“I admit, I am fatigued.”

 

Spock felt his shoulders droop in exhaustion and Jim led him to the couch, urging him to sit down. Once he was settled, Jim went to the kitchen and promptly came back with a glass of water, offering it to Spock. Spock gratefully drank it down and then leaned back, closing his eyes. He felt Jim ease off his boots and he let out a lazy, rumbling noise of pleasure as Jim began to massage his feet.

 

Jim laughed softly. After a few minutes he said, “Spock, I’m sorry I wasn’t here for… you know.”

 

“You are here now.”

 

Spock had no doubt Jim would have selflessly offered himself, and was actually somewhat relieved that Jim had not arrived back home in time. After spending so much time apart—and Jim going through so much change—Spock felt that they needed time become reacquainted before considering a serious relationship. It would have been difficult for Jim to suddenly be thrust into such an intense situation with Spock.

 

The massage continued and Spock began to doze off. He felt a blanket being laid over him and wanted to thank Jim, but all that came out was a sigh.

 

It was good having Jim back.

 

Selva had no more outbursts, but was very aloof for the first week after Jim returned.

 

The day in the garden when the picture was taken was when things began to turn around. Spock had heard an urgent chime from the computer terminal and went back inside to take the call, leaving Jim and Selva alone in the garden.

 

When he stepped back outside several minutes later, Jim and Selva were sitting next to each other, talking quietly. Spock stopped, not wanting to interrupt them, and slowly moved back toward the door.

 

“Still, you could have come back sooner,” Selva was saying. He lowered his head and stared at the ground.

 

“Yeah, I probably should have. But if it means anything to you, I’ll never leave you guys again.”

 

Selva did not reply immediately, but as Spock stepped back inside and began to close the door he heard Selva say “Yes. It does mean something to me.”

 

Though it took Selva some time to really open up to Jim as he had before, he seemed pleased with their new situation.

 

Jim had assured Spock that he did not mind sleeping on the couch, and so that became his bed for nearly two weeks while they settled into their new routine. Then one day Jim developed a terrible migraine. Spock practically ordered him to go lie down on his bed and Jim was too ill to argue. Spock closed the shades, tucked Jim in, and after giving him a hypo, he went out and closed the door.

 

When it was time for Spock to go to bed, Jim was still asleep. Spock stood near the bed for a few minutes, debating what he should do, before finally climbing in next to Jim and closing his eyes. He fell asleep immediately, comforted by Jim’s presence.

 

The next evening Jim complained that he had a headache and Spock insisted he go lie down in his bed again. Jim complied, almost too eagerly. Selva blinked slowly at them, the Vulcan equivalent of rolling one’s eyes.

 

Spock joined Jim an hour later, settling in beside him, a little closer than the night before.

 

The next night they simply went to bed at the same time, neither of them acknowledging out loud the change in their sleeping arrangement.

 

* * *

 

Spock set the picture back down on the desk and smiled a full, unashamed smile. He walked to his room and lit some incense, then sat down on the bed. He stretched his aching limbs and then consciously relaxed his muscles, settling into a more comfortable position.

 

Their first kiss had occurred on this bed.

 

Despite Spock’s original intention to meditate, he let himself get lost in memory again.

 

* * *

 

Spock watched Jim change into his sleep clothes, admiring his muscular body. They had seen the other Jim recently, when he and Spock’s younger self had spent time on New Vulcan, and it had made Spock appreciate the differences between the two Jims. The man he was possessively coming to think of as his Jim looked older and more robust, his face lined and his body boasting obvious strength.

 

Spock’s counterpart had openly gaped at him until his bondmate elbowed him in the chest. For the rest of their brief visit he had carefully avoided looking at Jim, at least until his bondmate’s back was turned. Spock could not blame him for being fascinated. This Jim was an older version of his own bondmate and shared many of his personality traits—with some intriguing differences.

 

That night, after they went to bed, Jim rolled over onto his side, facing Spock, and said, “Well, that was weird.”

 

“Indeed. It is a most unusual situation we find ourselves in.”

 

“Still, it was nice. I liked seeing them again. They’re really happy together. And…” Jim trailed off and shrugged one shoulder.

 

“Yes?” Spock said encouragingly. When Jim didn’t answer right away he rolled over so that they were face to face.

 

“It was good. I feel good,” Jim finally said.

 

“I am glad.”

 

Spock’s head tilted forward just as Jim moved a little closer, and their foreheads bumped together. Jim laughed and Spock smiled softly, but neither of them moved. Their noses brushed and Spock felt his heart began to beat more quickly, a tingling warmth spreading out from where their skin touched.

 

When he felt Jim’s hand brush against his, his fingers gently stroking over Spock’s knuckles, the tingling feeling burst into sparks of desire. He leaned into Jim, pressing their mouths together, relishing the feel of those full lips against his.

 

Logic left him. All thought left him. There was only Jim, hot and emanating a strength of affection that burned away some of the pain that had become a part of Spock.

 

When they finally pulled apart Spock felt remade. Everything essential remained unchanged, but it was as if a thousand new possibilities had suddenly opened up to him. It seemed likely to him that this was indeed the case.

 

“God, how I’ve wanted to do that,” Jim said breathlessly. “I think this is the happiest day of my life.”

 

“It is night time, Jim,” Spock said, still not entirely in control of his own breathing.

 

Jim tossed his head back and laughed. “Send help, I’ve fallen for a Vulcan!”

 

“Shhh, you will wake Selva,” Spock playfully admonished.

 

Jim squirmed and smothered a laugh. Then he pressed his forehead against Spock’s again, each of them eagerly soaking up the other’s presence.

 

They fell asleep that way, wrapped in each other’s arms.

 

* * *

 

By the time Spock returned to the present the incense had burned down and he was feeling as refreshed as if he had spent hours meditating.

 

He stood, his body feeling stronger and not thrumming quite so much with the little pains of age.

 

He was not sure exactly what time Jim would arrive home, but he wanted to make sure dinner was ready for him and so he stretched and went to the kitchen.

 

He was just finishing up with dinner when he heard the sound of the front door closing. He felt Jim’s nearness, felt him come down the hall and pass through the living room, and he shivered with pleasure when Jim’s hands rubbed up his back.

 

Jim buried his face in Spock’s neck and sighed. “Mmm, I missed you.” Jim always said this after a long or tiring day, and it filled Spock with satisfaction to know that Jim needed him as much as he needed Jim.

 

Jim’s body had been aged to that of a thirty year old when he first came to live with Spock, but due to the accelerated aging—which, fortunately, had begun to slow somewhat as time went on—his body was that of a man in his seventies.

 

He sometimes complained about the wrinkles and the weight he had put on around the middle, but Spock found his form pleasing. Though he did hope that Jim’s aging would continue to decelerate, there was something comforting about growing old with a man closer in age to him than Jim had been when he had first arrived on New Vulcan.

 

“Smells good,” Jim said, hooking his chin over Spock’s shoulder.

 

“If you release me I will serve you a plate.”

 

Jim had locked his arms around Spock’s chest, effectively pinning Spock’s arms to his sides. He let go and stepped back, though not before pressing one last hungry kiss to Spock’s neck. Spock sighed out Jim’s name, but prepared their plates and set them on the table before meeting Jim’s eyes.

 

He felt a burst of desire whip through their bond, and Spock gave Jim a look of half-hearted reproach. Jim grinned at him, but picked up his fork.

 

“All right. We can eat first,” he said.

 

After a few moments Spock said, “Selva visited today. He wishes to bond with Iria and wanted our blessing.”

 

“Ha! Finally!” Jim exclaimed, his expression gleeful. “Soon we’ll have cute Vulcan grandbabies running around.”

 

“They are not yet bonded, and I am sure it will be some time before they decide to take on the responsibility of parenthood.”

 

“We’ll see.” Jim gave Spock a knowing smile.

 

They continued to talk as they ate, the conversation easy and flowing. They talked about Jim’s day at the shipyard, Jim gesticulating excitedly, his fork drawing circles in the air. He was enthusiastic about the plans for the new science vessel being built, and as a project manager he was deeply involved in the process.

 

Spock thought Jim’s job was fitting. If Jim could not fly starships, he could at least take part building them.

 

When they were finished eating Spock began to gather up the dishes but Jim stopped him.

 

“I’ll get this. You go rest a bit,” Jim said, pulling the plates out of his hands.

 

“But I could—”

 

“Nope. I’ve got it.” Jim kissed his cheek and shooed him toward the living room. “I wont take long.”

 

“Very well.”

 

Spock did need rest, and he sank down into his chair with a tired groan. Jim had a tendency to fuss over him, but Spock found that he did not mind. He felt lucky to have found such a bondmate so late in his life, when at one time he had been so sure that he would never know love again.

 

And Jim did love him very much. He heard it in Jim’s voice every time he spoke to Spock, and he felt it in every touch. He saw it in every kind thing Jim did for him, and recognized it even in Jim’s anger when Spock occasionally neglected his health. It had not taken Spock long after Jim’s return to claim the human as his bondmate.

 

Spock was shaken from his thoughts when Jim came to him from the kitchen and tenderly stroked his cheek.

 

“All done. Let’s get you to bed,” Jim said in a warm voice.

 

“And do you intend for me to continue my rest once there?” Spock asked with the coy arch of a brow.

 

“Absolutely not.”

 

Jim helped him up and led him down the hall. Once they were ready for bed Jim turned off the light and pulled Spock down onto the mattress and into his arms.

 

As Jim held him and kissed him deeply, Spock was overwhelmed with gratitude that the universe had seen fit to grant him such happiness. Jim’s sure hands stroked and squeezed and Spock moaned into his mouth, his need rising.

 

Spock pulled his head back and gasped. “I want you.”

 

“Yes,” was all Jim could manage to say, and he pulled Spock on top of him.

 

The moved against each other, both burning hot with desire, and Spock found himself reaching for Jim’s meld points.

 

“Jim?”

 

“Yes,” Jim said again, his eyes gleaming with want and devotion.

 

As Spock entered his mind, Jim’s very spirit embraced him, burning hot and bright, illuminating all that had once been darkness.

 

Together they knew no pain and no loneliness.

 

They were one.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My art for this story can be found [here](http://rowan-baines.tumblr.com/post/87029035861/drawings-for-my-story-the-long-and-winding-road).


End file.
